One  of  Them 


One  of  Them 

Chapters  from 
A  Passionate  Autobiography 

BY 
ELIZABETH  HASANOVITZ 


Tc&mfiiHttZ} 


Boston  and  New  York 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


c^v 


COPYRIGHT,  1917  AND  1918,  BY  THE  ATLANTIC  MONTHLY  COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT,  I918,  BY  ELIZABETH  HASANOVITZ 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  August  iqi8 


To  the  memory  of 
ROBERT  G.  VALENTINE 

who  extended  a  brotherly  hand  to  me  and 

whose  wish  to  send  to  the  world  a  message 

from  thousands  of  us  I  fulfill  with  gratitude 

and  to 

S.  S.  POLAKOFF 

my  teacher  and  brother  in  struggle 


30 


ONE  OF  THEM 

CHAPTER  I 

SUNK  in  despondency,  I  had  forgotten  every- 
thing, my  surroundings,  the  hall  where  the 
Dramatic  Club  was  meeting,  the  members  of  the 
club,  all  had  vanished  in  my  misery. 

"Are  you  asleep?" 

I  jumped  up.  Near  me  stood  Clara,  one  of  the 
members  of  the  club,  who  had  always  shown  a 
friendly  interest  in  me.  She  recalled  me  with  a 
start  to  the  present.  I  was  sitting  in  a  dark,  low- 
ceilinged  hall,  the  shelter  of  our  Dramatic  Club. 
Slowly  and  monotonously  the  rehearsal  had  gone; 
the  director,  his  body  reeking  with  sweat,  had  re- 
peated to  the  tenth  time  the  act  which  failed  to 
please  him. 

The  object  of  the  club  was  to  acquaint  the  Yid- 
dish public  of  the  East  Side  of  New  York  with  lit- 
erary dramas,  to  encourage  a  better  understanding 
of  literature  than  they  could  gain  from  the  Yiddish 
theatres,  which  usually  fed  their  patrons  with  the 
trash  common  in  the  theatrical  world.  The  best 
dramas  of  Ibsen,  Hauptmann,  Sudermann,  and 
other  modern  writers  were  translated  into  Yiddish 
and  produced  in  that  small  hall  by  a  few  idealists 


2  One  of  Them 

who  devoted  all  their  spare  time  and  sacrificed  a 
great  deal  of  their  earnings  for  the  creation  of  a 
literary  folk-theatre. 

That  evening  the  last  rehearsal  for  the  next  day's 
performance  had  taken  place.  Confused  and  puz- 
zled, I  had  sat  through  the  rehearsal.  The  poor 
light  in  the  hall  had  brought  the  ceiling  still  lower, 
making  me  sink  in  deeper  despair.  Was  the  play 
interesting  or  not,  the  acting  good  or  bad?  I  did 
not  see.  Where  was  my  enthusiasm  gone?  What 
was  nagging  me  so  dreadfully? 

My  mind  wandered  in  dark  confusion.  Uncon- 
sciously, my  hand  digging  in  my  pocket  crumpled 
a  small  piece  of  paper.   What  was  it? 

Oh,  yes,  a  two-dollar  bill!  And  the  enlighten- 
ment came:  my  only  two  dollars  —  all  my  precious 
wealth! 

Over  me  swept  the  past  nine  weeks  —  weeks  of 
weary,  never-ending  search  for  work.  Each  day 
rising  with  new  hope,  looking  over  the  advertise- 
ments, running  from  place  to  place,  all  fruitless, 
until,  broken  with  fatigue,  I  would  return  home, 
throw  myself  on  the  bed,  and  spend  the  rest  of  the 
day  in  the  stupor  of  despair,  apathetically  gazing 
at  the  ceiling. 

Most  of  the  advertisements  wanted  skilled 
"hands";  others  were  four-dollar  jobs  with  little 
chance  for  advancement.  My  self-respect  would 
not  permit  me  to  slave  for  four  dollars  a  week. 


After  a  Year  of  Struggle  3 

Nine  long,  long  weeks  I  looked  in  vain  for  a  place 
where  I  could  learn  some  trade  that  would  in  the 
end  pay  me  more.  After  a  long  year  of  struggle, 
here  I  stood  more  helpless  than  the  day  of  my  ar- 
rival in  America. 

Why  had  I  come  to  America?  What  had  I  ac- 
complished by  that  historic  change  in  my  life? 

From  the  dark  brooding  that  made  me  uncon- 
scious of  my  surroundings,  I  was  recalled  by 
Clara's  kindly  voice.  The  lights  were  all  out,  the 
people  all  gone. 

"Wake  up,  kid,  wake  up!  It's  time  to  go  home. 
You  do  not  mind  if  I  walk  home  with  you?" 

I  looked  up  at  her  as  if  I  saw  her  for  the  first 
time.  A  face  full  of  wrinkles,  a  cut  on  the  lower 
Up,  big,  inflamed  eyes  that  looked  at  me  smilingly; 
a  face  that  I  had  never  liked  before  looked  much 
pleasanter  to  me  now. 

"Why,  yes,  I  shall  be  glad,"  I  said. 

Down  we  climbed  the  dark,  dirty,  creaking  stair- 
case, tracing  our  way  along  Orchard  Street  —  a 
small,  dirty  thoroughfare  crowded  with  push-carts 
and  people.  The  noise  of  the  elevated  trains  on 
Allen  Street  was  deafening,  but  above  the  din  was 
a  greater  noise  than  usual.  Bells  were  ringing, 
whistles  blowing,  the  air  was  full  of  merriment  and 
joy.  Young  girls  and  boys  holding  feather  dusters 
dipped  in  some  ill-smelling  powder  or  charcoal, 
smeared  the  faces  of  the  people  as  they  passed  by. 


4  One  of  Them 

"New  Year's  Eve!  New  Year's  Eve!"  Clara  ex- 
claimed joyfully,  infected  by  the  merriment  of 
those  around  her. 

To  me  it  was  annoying.  Could  not  people  enjoy 
themselves  more  intelligently?  On  New  Year's 
Eve  in  Russia,  the  peasants  usually  get  drunk  and 
often  break  the  windows  of  the  Yiddish  dwellings. 
Here  the  young  folks  were  running  around  scream- 
ing like  wild  animals,  tormenting  the  passers-by. 

"You  are  moody  to-night.  Cheer  up,  kid;  your 
boats  are  not  all  sunk,  are  they?" 

She  was  amazed  to  see  me  in  such  a  mood,  for 
by  nature  I  was  a  joyous  person  and  among  my 
friends  I  made  myself  very  merry,  often  being 
the  ringleader  in  all  the  fun,  so  that  my  sufferings 
for  the  last  nine  weeks  were  not  known  to  any 
one. 

"I  think  they  are,  Clara,"  I  answered,  clutching 
my  two-dollar  bill  which  so  painfully  reminded  me 
of  my  situation. 

Her  efforts  to  start  a  conversation  were  not  suc- 
cessful. I  was  too  tired  and  discouraged  to  speak, 
and  silently  we  reached  my  door.  After  wishing 
each  other  good-night  and  a  Happy  New  Year,  I 
climbed  up  the  dark,  dirty  stairway  to  the  fourth 
floor  and  opened  the  door  into  a  cold,  unfriendly 
room.  An  old  couch,  two  chairs,  a  broken  white 
table,  and  an  old,  one-time-white  dresser  furnished 
the  small  room.   The  only  window  faced  a  narrow 


Homesickness  5 

court  that  never  allowed  the  sunlight  to  break  into 
my  room.  My  room-mate  was  absent.  I  lit  the 
gas. 

Lonely  and  homesick,  I  paced  back  and  forth 
from  one  corner  to  another,  my  mind  painfully 
wandering  far,  far  away  to  my  home,  now  clad  in 
silver  white. 

H  —  r-^r  —  roph,  h  —  r-r  —  roph,  h  —  r-^r  — 
roph,  h  —  r-r  —  roph  I 

Oh,  those  sickening  sounds  from  my  snoring 
neighbors!  From  the  windows  crowded  round  the 
air-shaft  they  came  into  my  room,  driving  me  al- 
most to  distraction.  For  two  months  that  snoring 
discord  disturbed  my  peace,  irritated  my  nerves, 
and  kept  me  awake  through  the  night. 

The  city  clock  slowly  struck  twelve.  The  New 
Year  had  come.  More  bells  ringing,  cheerful 
voices  greeting:  "Happy  New  Year!  Happy  New 
Year!"  came  faintly  above  the  other  sounds  to  my 
room.  What  had  the  past  year  brought  to  me? 
And  what  will  the  New  Year  bring?  Like  a  curse 
the  wishes  rang  in  my  ears. 

Everything  began  to  mingle  before  me.  All  the 
scenes  and  experiences  of  the  past  year  chased 
through  my  brain:  my  home,  Russia  with  its  per- 
secutions, my  departure,  my  journey,  my  arrival 
in  America,  the  factory  in  Canada  where  I  worked 
first,  my  arrival  in  New  York,  five  weeks  of  work  in 
a  factory  in  New  York,  —  and  then  the  nine  weeks 


6  One  of  Them 

of  searching  for  work.   The  memories  crowded  my 
brain  and  numbed  me  with  their  hopelessness. 

Home,  home!  How  I  wished  to  be  there,  in 
that  spacious  living-room  with  its  four  windows  all 
opening  on  the  street;  at  that  long  table  with  the 
older  children  around  it,  busy  at  their  tasks;  mother 
seated  near  the  brick  oven,  bending  over  a  box- 
ful of  goose  feathers,  separating  the  down,  pre- 
paring pillows  for  her  daughters'  future  homes; 
all  awaiting  father's  return,  who  after  the  hard 
day's  work  in  his  school  gave  private  lessons  in  the 
evening  in  order  to  keep  up  his  "small"  family. 
The  younger  children  playing  joyfully  on  the  floor, 
delighted  to  play  tricks  on  us,  calling,  from  time 
to  time,  "There  is  father!"  and  laughing  gleefully 
when  they  succeeded  in  making  us  raise  our  heads, 
in  vain,  to  greet  our  self-sacrificing  bread-winner. 
/Home!  To  be  back  in  that  warm  home  under 
/  mother's  devoted  caresses;  to  be  sitting  with  father 
like  a  true  comrade,  discussing  with  him  new  plans 
and  methods  for  the  success  of  our  school. 

My  father  was  a  Hebrew  teacher.  As  only  a 
small  proportion  of  Jews  could  gain  admission  into 
Russian  educational  institutions,  Russian  was 
taught  in  the  Hebrew  schools,  but  secretly,  because 
the  Jews  were  not  allowed  to  teach  it  without  a 
special  license,  which  they  could  seldom  get.  My 
own  small  school  of  girls  was  also  without  a  license. 
; ,  I    had    received    my    education    from    private 


Education  in  Russia  7 

teachers  because  I  had  never  been  able  to  get  a 
chance  to  attend  the  Russian  schools.  Jews  are 
permitted  to  form  only  five  per  cent  of  the  total 
enrollment  of  pupils  in  the  public  and  high  schools 
and  a  decreasing  percentage  in  the  higher  institu- 
tions. Once,  when  I  was  ready  to  pass  my  examina- 
tion, my  application  was  rejected  because  the  list 
of  possible  applicants  was  full.  The  second  time 
the  examination  was  made  so  difficult  that  out  of 
sixty  girls  only  fourteen  passed,  nine  Russian  and 
five  Yiddish.  The  rest,  all  Yiddish  girls,  failed. 
Questions  absolutely  out  of  the  course  were  put 
to  us.  The  majority  of  us  knew  the  prescribed 
course  thoroughly  because  we  were  aware  of  the 
difficulties  the  Government  created  for  Jewish 
students  and  were  prepared  for  them.  Still,  we 
failed. 

Those  long  years  of  struggle  for  art  education! 
At  fourteen  I  was  already  giving  lessons  to  begin- 
ners so  as  to  earn  money  to  pay  for  my  books  and 
teachers  that  I  might  be  less  a  burden  to  my  father. 
His  highest  ambition  was  to  see  me  get  my  teacher's 
diploma,  so  that  we  could  open  a  licensed  school  and 
stop  paying  graft  to  the  chief  of  police,  who  threat- 
ened us  continually.  Many  times  the  chief  and 
his  guards  would  disturb  us  in  the  middle  of  the  day, 
interrupting  our  work  and  frightening  the  children, 
who  feared  the  uniforms  as  if  they  concealed  devils, 
and  who  were  thrown  into  frenzy  at  their  approach. 


8  One  of  Them 

Ghostly  pale  and  shivering  as  if  from  a  Siberian 
frost,  the  children  would  hastily  rid  their  portfolios 
of  all  Russian  books  and  papers,  which  they  would 
pile  together  and  send  flying,  pile  after  pile,  across 
the  room  and  into  the  cellar,  that  splendid  hiding- 
place  for  the  crime  of  stealing  a  Russian  education ! 
After  such  a  visit  the  rest  of  the  day  was  spent  in 
the  difficult  task  of  assorting  the  books  and  papers 
for  their  frightened  little  owners.  Each  visit  of 
that  kind  meant  a  precious  twenty-five  dollar  bill. 
My  father  had  paid  fines  several  times  for  my  school 
because  I  was  under  age;  and  even  with  a  diploma, 
I  could  not  teach  until  I  was  twenty-one,  so  that 
my  father  bore  all  the  responsibility. 

With  my  second  failure  to  obtain  a  diploma,  all 
our  hopes,  cherished  for  so  many  years,  began  to 
vanish.  The  chief  of  police  assailed  us  more  fre- 
quently; we  were  less  and  less  able  to  fill  up  his 
bottomless  pocket.  After  each  visit  days  of  misery 
followed.  Many,  many  times  my  father  and  I  sat 
through  the  night,  thinking  and  thinking  how  to 
better  our  condition,  what  future  to  provide  for 
my  brothers  and  sisters.  Nothing  could  be  done. 
Members  of  the  human  family,  people  with  brains 
and  ambition,  we  were  not  citizens;  we  were  chil- 
dren of  the  cursed  Pale,  with  our  rights  limited,  the 
districts  in  which  we  could  live  and  the  trades  and 
professions  we  could  follow,  all  prescribed  for  us. 
What  would  become  of  us?  What  could  we  expect? 


Within  the  Pale  9 

Fight  for  liberty,  for  equal  rights?  The  persecution 
was  so  terrible  —  for  one  free  word  one  found  a 
home  in  prison. 

"Oh,  father,  it  is  suicidal,"  I  would  often  say.  ' 

He  would  sit  downcast,  as  if  guilty  for  giving  life 
to  his  children,  whose  fate  like  his  was  to  live  within 
the  Pale,  to  be  in  the  hands  of  the  Government 
dogs,  to  fear  the  least  drunken  moujik  who,  in- 
fluenced by  the  priests,  would  so  often  make  a 
sudden  attack  on  the  property  and  sometimes  lives 
of  the  Yiddish  people.  They  said  that  they  con- 
sidered it  a  virtue  to  rob  and  kill  the  enemies  of 
Christ. 

Freedom,  freedom! 

Freedom,  I  wanted. 

"Father,"  I  once  said  when  the  family  was 
seated  around  the  table  ready  for  the  Sabbath  meal, 
—  "father,  I  have  been  thinking  of  myself  and 
of  you  all,  thinking  hard  for  the  last  three  weeks. 
What  will  become  of  me,  and  of  all  of  us,  if  we 
remain  in  this  hole?  The  future  appears  so  dark 
to  me.  I  have  been  thinking,  and  I  have  decided 
that  —  that  —  I  —  shall  —  go  to  America." 

Thunderstruck  by  my  last  words,  they  all  looked 
at  me.  The  first  to  break  the  silence  was  my 
mother. 

"Are  you  mad?  A  young  girl  —  alone  —  in  a  far 
country?"  She  trembled,  tears  flowing  from  her 
eyes,  feeling  hurt  that  I  should  think  of  leaving 


10  One  of  Them 

home.  Father  sat  silent,  his  head  hidden  in  his 
hands.   The  youngsters  were  crying  with  mother. 

"Never  let  me  hear  that  nonsense  again!" 

"But,  mother,  I  shall  go  finally.  I  do  not  want 
to  waste  my  life.  I  am  tired  of  being  condemned  to 
eternal  limitations.  I  want  to  be  free.  I  shall  go 
to  America — a  free  country,  where  everybody  ffets 
free  education.  Imagine,  mother,  free  education! 
1  shall  earn  my  living  and  study  in  the  free  evening 
schools — and  when  I  establish  firm  ground  under 
my  feet,  I  shall  help  you  and  father  and  the  chil- 
dren. Think  of  the  children  going  to  free  schools, 
growing  up  to  be  free  citizens ! " 

My  mother  would  not  listen.  Nor  would  my 
father.  Except  for  my  younger  brother,  I  had  no 
one's  approval.  But  my  determination  was  strong 
and  the  fight  began. 

•  For  many  days  my  mother's  tears  would  not  dry. 
She  would  picture  to  me  all  the  hardships  in  a  far 
country. 

"No  matter  how  bitter  life  is  here,  still  there  is 
no  place  like  home.  What  will  become  of  you  there 
—  a  working-girl?" 

/My  mother  could  not  tolerate  the  idea  that  I 
might  become  a  working-girl.    The  tradition  of  a 

\ respectable  family  in  our  town,  no  matter  how  poor, 
was  to  keep  their  daughters  at  home.  The  only 
occupation  for  girls  was  either  dressmaking  or  do- 
mestic service  —  the  latter  being  very  degrading 


A  Hunger  Strike  11 

because  of  its  surroundings,  and  working-girls  were 
recruited  only  from  the  poorest  people. 

Teaching,  to  my  mother,  was  something  divinely 
noble,  and  could  have  no  relation  to  the  prosaic 
term,  "work." 

"There  will  be  no  one  to  look  after  you,"  she 
would  continue.  "I  shall  live  in  constant  anxiety. 
I  shall  not  sleep  nights  thinking  that  you  may  not 
have  a  warm  place  to  sleep,  that  you  may  not  have 
your  meals  regularly,  your  laundry  done,  nor  your 
clothes  mended." 

Poor  mother!  Her  sensitive  heart  perceived  in 
advance  all  the  misery  that  life  had  prepared  for  me 
when  I  found  myself  on  the  other  side  of  the  globe. 

"But,  mother,  I  am  no  more  a  baby.  I  have 
passed  eighteen  and  am  big  enough  to  take  care 
of  myself  wherever  I  am." 

"Think  of  mother  and  me,"  father  would  say. 
"What  will  become  of  us?  Do  you  realize  what  it 
means  to  part  with  a  child?  In  sorrow  or  in  glad- 
ness, we  must  all  be  together." 

Not  succeeding  in  persuading  me  to  remain,  father 
declared  that  he  would  not  endorse  my  passport, 
and  without  his  consent  I  could  not  leave  Russia. 

Weeks  passed.   I  failed  in  getting  their  consent. 

As  a  last  resort,  I  tried  a  hunger  strike. 

When  after  three  days  of  hunger,  tired  and 
weakened,  I  still  refused  to  eat,  father  brought 
me  the  passport. 


12  One  of  Them 

Then  preparations  began.  Sewing  and  packing, 
all  dipped  in  mother's  tears. 

Then  the  day  of  my  departure,  that  forever 
memorable  day!  Mother  fainting,  the  children 
crying,  father  walking  sadly  back  and  forth  across 
the  living-room,  the  house  full  of  neighbors  who  had 
come  to  say  good-bye,  my  pupils  with  flowers  to 
wish  me  well.  When  I  was  seated  in  the  stage- 
coach my  father  jumped  up,  clutched  me  in  his 
arms,  and  bit  rather  than  kissed  my  cheek.  That 
last  scream  from  my  mother's  wounded  heart  as 
the  stage  moved  off  still  rings  in  my  ears.  A  scream 
from  a  heart  torn,  it  may  be  forever,  from  its  dear- 
est and  best  beloved! 

All  I  left  behind  me  with  regret  and  yet  with  no 
regret. 

Then  the  weary  days  on  the  train.  The  third- 
class  coach  in  which  I  rode  was  divided  into  sec- 
tions; each  section  with  eight  hard  benches,  four 
upper  and  four  lower;  each  bench  planned  for  two 
passengers  to  sit,  but  no  place  to  sleep.  During 
those  three  days  until  we  reached  the  seaport,  we 
slept  sitting  or  leaning  on  our  luggage.  The  great 
unwashed  mass  who  had  occupied  these  benches 
before  us,  sleeping  in  their  clothes  and  often  in 
their  kojuck,1  had  left  countless  insects  behind 
them,  who  made  our  lives  miserable.    My  clothes 

1  Kojuck  is  a  loose  gathered  overcoat  lined  with  lamb  skin  —  a 
splendid  hiding-place  for  all  sorts  of  vermin. 


An  Immigrant  13 

were  full  of  vermin  when  I  arrived  at  Libau.  I  im- 
mediately found  a  bath-house  and  cleansed  myself 
from  the  parasites,  but  the  immigration  houses 
where  we  stopped  were  equally  infested.  Immi- 
grants are  treated  worse  than  prisoners,  not  only 
in  Russia,  but  also  in  England.  We  were  driven 
from  one  bad  place  to  another  still  worse.  In  Lon- 
don, our  baggage  was  opened,  our  clothes  thrown 
carelessly  together  with  those  of  the  other  passen- 
gers to  be  disinfected  by  steam,  then  replaced  in 
our  trunks,  all  rolled  up  and  wet.  My  things  were 
so  mussed  that  I  had  not  even  a  clean  shirt-waist 
fit  to  wear  on  the  voyage.  The  food  in  the  immi- 
gration houses  was  not  fit  for  animals,  but  we  were 
only  immigrants. 

On  the  steamer  we  travelled  steerage  to  Canada, 
together  with  unwashed  Russian  peasants  and  a 
little  cleaner  German  ones.  We  —  a  girl  friend  and 
myself  —  were  lost  among  them,  like  two  little 
wrens  in  a  flock  of  crows. 

It  was  impossible  to  sit  with  them  at  the  table. 
Not  used  to  knives  and  forks  they  would  dip  their 
soiled  hands  into  the  platter  and  grab  the  food, 
stuffing  their  mouths,  chewing  with  relish  and 
making  a  noise  that  reminded  us  of  pigs  around  a 
full  trough.  We  begged  the  interpreter  to  bring  us 
some  food  to  our  rooms,  but  he  said  it  was  against 
the  rules.  For  two  days  I  took  nothing  but  a  glass 
of  tea,  and  we  spent  most  of  our  time  on  deck. 


14  One  of  Them 

On  the  third  day  I  became  seasick  and  did  not 
leave  my  berth  for  four  days.  Our  repeated  appeal 
for  food  in  our  rooms  was  always  met  with  the 
laconic  reply,  "Them  orders  is  orders  —  you  can't 
get  anything  in  your  rooms."  I  should  have  starved 
had  not  a  gentle  Englishman  from  the  third  class 
brought  me  an  orange  occasionally.  With  his  help 
we  tipped  the  interpreter  and  the  porter  and 
"them  orders  is  orders"  was  forgotten:  we  had  our 
food  in  our  room.  On  the  seventh  day  I  recovered 
and  spent  the  remaining  seven  days  on  deck  or 
in  the  third  class  with  the  English  people,  —  they 
were  all  British  in  the  third  class,  —  who  arranged 
concerts  each  evening  at  which  we  sang. 

Two  hours  before  we  arrived  at  Quebec  we  were 
held  up  by  quarantine  officers.  A  man  in  the  steer- 
age had  contracted  typhoid  fever,  and  all  the  pas- 
sengers in  the  steerage  and  third  class  were  kept 
in  quarantine  for  another  two  weeks,  held  prisoners 
on  a  small  island  in  the  St.  Lawrence  and  fed  with 
meat  filled  with  worms. 

These  experiences  also  I  left  behind  me,  and  took 
my  first  step  on  the  other  side  of  the  globe  from 
home,  full  of  hope  and  ready  to  endure  against 
anything^and  everything. 

In  Canada  I  was  fairly  prosperous,  but  I  chafed 
at  the  provincialism  of  its  mental  atmosphere.  My 
restless  mind  sought  something  to  interest  me,  to 
>Jnspire  me,  to  absorb  me. 


Arrival  in  New  York  15 

My  second  stop,  Chicago,  was  also  unsatisfac- 
tory, and  I  decided  to  try  the  much-feared  New 
York. 

"  New  York,  the  devil's  nest ! "  How  people  tried 
to  warn  me,  tried  to  keep  me  back! 

"A  girl  with  no  trade,  no  relations,  will  soon  get 
lost.  Youth  and  beauty  fade  there  so  quickly," 
they  would  say. 

If  my  people  could  not  keep  me  from  coming  to 
America,  strangers  surely  could  not  keep  me  from 
coming  to  New  York. 

So  the  last  week  of  September,  1912,  I  arrived 
in  New  York,  with  eight  dollars  in  my  pocket  and 
just  one  address,  given  me  by  the  Socialist-Terri- 
torialist  Party  to  their  New  York  headquarters. 

In  truth,  I  was  full  of  fear  all  the  way,  a  girl  all 
alone  in  New  York,  not  knowing  the  language. 

"Nonsense,  I  am  old  enough  to  take  care  of 
myself."  I  tried  to  quiet  my  fears  as  I  had  tried 
to  quiet  my  mother's. 

When  I  stepped  out  of  the  train  at  the  Grand 
Central  Station,  not  then  completed,  a  few  middle- 
aged  ladies,  travellers'  guides  from  the  Y.W.C.A., 
stopped  me,  asking  me  if  I  wished  assistance. 
But  not  knowing  who  they  were,  I  looked  at  them 
with  distrust. 

I  went  out  on  the  street  with  my  heavy  suit- 
case, making  my  way  among  the  various  porters, 
who  offered  their  assistance,  and,  seeing  my  look 


16  One  of  Them 

of  suspicion,  showed  me  their  badges  to  reas- 
sure me.  But  I  went  to  a  policeman,  who  put 
me  on  a  street-car,  and  I  found  the  office  on 
Delancy  Street,  where  members  of  the  staff  re- 
ceived me  kindly. 

Luckily,  I  found  a  job  in  Brooklyn,  in  a  knitting 
factory,  to  sew  pockets  on  sweaters  —  the  same 
work  I  had  done  in  Canada.  It  was  the  height  of 
the  season.  Ten  dollars  a  week  was  considered 
good  pay. 

I  found  a  room  on  Eighth  Street;  also  a  room- 
mate. I  managed  to  live  on  five  dollars  a  week  — 
one  dollar  for  my  share  of  the  room  rent,  three 
dollars  for  food,  and  one  dollar  for  general  ex- 
penses. The  other  five  I  began  to  save.  I  wanted 
to  save  enough  to  buy  a  ticket  for  my  brother  so 
that  he  might  come,  and  together  we  might  bring 
the  rest  of  the  family. 

All  went  smoothly.  I  joined  the  Dramatic  Club, 
satisfying  one  of  my  first  ambitions  —  to  act. 
Lectures,  readings,  all  were  open  to  me. 

The  only  thing  that  bothered  me  was  my  shop. 
It  was  so  different  from  those  in  which  I  had 
worked  before.  The  atmosphere  seemed  so  com- 
mon and  vulgar.  In  Canada  I  had  worked  with 
girls  whose  language  I  had  not  understood,  while 
here  I  worked  with  Yiddish  girls.  Their  frankness 
in  manner  and  speech  often  made  me  blush  and 
they  would  tease  me.   The  forelady,  an  old,  shriv- 


The  Knitting  Factory  17 

elled  scold,  would  display  her  set  of  gold  teeth  as 
she  said:  "Looks  as  if  you  were  only  yesterday 
out  of  short  skirts.  H'm!  H'm!  Still  waters  run 
deep."  And  she  would  follow  me  with  a  hateful 
look,  for  the  foreman  treated  me  respectfully  and 
she  envied  me. 

"Say,  how  long  do  you  work  in  a  factory?"  she 
once  asked  me. 

"Only  a  few  months,"  I  answered. 

"And  I  am  working  in  this  place  for  eight  years, 
and  I  worked  two  years  before  I  came  here.  H'm ! 
I  guess  you'll  not  work  so  long,  Sugar  Face !  You  '11 
get  a  feller  and  be  married  soon." 

I  looked  at  her.  To  work  in  that  place  for  ten 
years,  fifty-four  hours  a  week,  with  only  half  an 
hour  for  lunch,  inhale  the  dust  from  the  wool,  put 
a  set  of  gold  teeth  in  my  mouth,  and  shrivel  as  she 
had  —  I  thought,  if  I  could  not  do  better  than  that 
I  would  choose  to  die.  But  I  had  my  hopes,  my 
plans  for  the  future  —  not  the  hope  of  getting  mar- 
ried, but  the  hope  of  obtaining  a  profession,  the 
hope  of  doing  something  worth  while,  hopes  unex- 
plainable,  but  so  promising! 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  would  never  work  so  long." 

She  misunderstood  me.  "Oh,  I  kind  o'  thought  so 
from  the  minute  you  came  into  the  shop.  Is  not 
the  foreman  a  nice  feller,  my  Sugar  Face?"  she 
added  ironically  and  walked  away! 

I  had  no  time  to  pay  attention  to  such  remarks. 


18  One  of  Them 

Nothing  existed  for  me  but  the  pursuits  to  which 
I  gave  my  evenings.  From  my  entrance  into  the 
shop  in  the  morning,  I  waited  for  the  clock  to  strike 
six,  when  I  could  leave  the  place  and  all  in  it  be- 
hind me.  Eating  my  dinner  in  a  hurry,  I  would 
hasten  to  the  Dramatic  Club  or  some  other  place 
where  I  found  companionship  with  pedple  who  had 
similar  interests. 

Five  weeks  passed,  five  happy  weeks.  I  had  al- 
ready twenty-five  dollars  saved.  My  constant 
thought  was,  "I  shall  soon  be  able  to  buy  a  ticket 
and  send  for  my  brother." 

But  fate  decided  differently.  On  Monday  of  my 
sixth  week,  when  I  came  into  the  shop  the  fore- 
lady  came  over  to  me  and  announced:  "It  has 
got  slow,  Sugar  Face!  there  will  be  no  work  for 
you.  — But  what  do  you  care  for  work?"  she  added 
laughingly. 

She  left  me  with  no  further  explanation.  I  went 
over  to  the  foreman  to  ask  for  a  reason.  He  ex- 
plained to  me  that  it  had  turned  slow  and  the  boss 
kept  only  the  quickest  and  cheapest  hands,  and 
the  forelady  was  the  one  to  select  the  fittest. 

So  I  unexpectedly  lost  my  job.  What  was  I  to  do 
now? 

With  my  lunch  of  two  buttered  rolls  in  my  hands, 
I  returned  home. 

New  York  with  its  slack  season,  New  York  and 


Looking  for  Work  Again  19 

starvation  stared  me  in  the  face.  But  I  refused  to 
be  discouraged.  I  had  come  to  New  York  with  eight 
dollars  in  my  pocket.  Now  I  had  twenty-five.  Am 
I  not  better  off  now?  Did  I  not  prepare  myself  to 
face  the  worst,  to  fight  patiently?  With  a  wealth 
of  twenty-five  dollars  I  should  not  starve.  I  quickly 
sat  down  to  plan  my  expenditure,  including  my 
food  allowance,  for  the  following  weeks. 

Car  fare 60  cents 

Newspapers 6 

Bread 25 

Butter 20 

Beans 14 

Milk 20 

Sugar 7 

Total $L52 

Plus  $1.00  for  room  rent,  $2.52  per  week,  subject 
to  change  as  soon  as  I  should  find  work. 

The  next  thing  was  to  decide  what  to  look  for. 
I  knew  no  trade,  and  the  season  on  sweaters  would 
not  begin  for  some  time.  I  bought  a  paper  and 
looked  through  the  advertisements.  It  was  too  late 
to  go  out  to  look  for  a  job  that  day,  so  I  sat  at  home, 
reading. 

My  room-mate,  a  young  Russian  woman  of 
twenty-five,  worked  on  dresses  at  that  time.  She 
advised  me  to  learn  the  dressmaking  trade  as  the 
workers  had  begun  to  organize  themselves  seriously 
into  a  union  and  expected  to  better  their  conditions 


20  One  of  Them 

the  coming  season.  Although  living  so  close  to- 
gether, we  had  little  in  common.  She  was  five  years 
older  than  I  and  the  hard  life  she  led  made  her  look 
sceptically  at  me  and  my  optimistic  views.  Her  hus- 
band in  an  insane  asylum,  her  two  children  sent 
back  to  Russia  to  be  in  her  old  mother's  care,  she 
lived  alone,  separated  from  all  her  nearest  and 
dearest.  In  her  intense  loneliness  she  sought  f  orget- 
fulness  in  almost  anything  that  would  distract  her 
thoughts  and  give  her  a  passing  pleasure.  While  I, 
young  and  ambitious,  full  of  hope,  was  absorbed  in 
different  interests,  and  so  our  lives  passed  in  differ- 
ent ways. 

The  next  day  I  began  to  look  for  work.  Day  in, 
day  out,  I  travelled  the  city  from  north  to  south, 
from  east  to  west,  in  search  of  work.  I  answered 
all  the  advertisements,  but  in  vain.  I  could  find 
no  job  at  dresses,  because  in  the  slack  time  no 
learners  were  taken.  In  general,  learners  found  it 
hard  to  enter  a  trade.  I  tried  straw  hats,  —  the 
papers  were  full  of  advertisements  for  workers  in 
that  trade,  —  but  I  would  have  to  pay  twenty-five 
dollars  and  work  for  a  month  without  pay  in  order 
to  learn  that  trade.  Flowers,  corset-box  making, 
everything  I  tried,  and  as  the  weeks  passed,  my 
courage  lessened  with  each  vanishing  dollar. 
I  And  so  more  than  a  year  had  passed  since  I  left 
home.  Without  English,  with  no  relatives,  I  fought 
my  battles  bitterly.   Now,  on  New  Year's  Eve,  I 


New  Year's  Eve  21 

had  two  dollars  in  my  pocket,  two  dollars  between 
me  and  starvation! 

Tired,  my  head  aching  from  the  memories  so 
vividly  appearing  before  me,  rushing  so  poignantly 
through  my  brain,  I  fell  into  restless  sleep. 


CHAPTER  n 

LATE  the  next  morning,  my  room-mate  woke 
me  up. 

"A  friend  is  asking  for  you,  Lisa,"  she  said. 

And  in  walked  Clara  with  her  familiar  — 

"Hello,  kiddo!  Get  up  quick,  we  must  be  at  the 
club  at  eleven." 

In  a  few  minutes  I  was  dressed  and  we  went  off. 
I  could  not  understand  what  made  her  come  for  me. 
She  had  never  visited  me  before. 

"Are  you  out  of  work  for  a  long  time?  "  she  asked 
as  we  walked  together. 

I  told  her  all  about  my  troubles,  omitting  to 
mention  my  two-dollar  bill,  all  that  was  left  to  me 
for  the  indefinite  future. 

At  the  club  the  members  were  all  there;  those 
who  were  not  acting  were  watching  the  others  re- 
hearse. Clara  had  the  part  of  mother  in  the  play 
being  rehearsed.  She  usually  played  the  mother's 
part  in  all  the  performances  of  the  club  and  she 
was  very  good  in  her  portrayals.  Impatiently  I 
waited  until  the  rehearsal  was  over,  when  again 
Clara  clung  to  me,  insisting  that  I  should  go  home 
and  have  dinner  with  her.  I  suspected  that  she 
might  have  guessed   my  situation   and   refused, 


The  Sweat-Shops  23 

but  she  insisted,  so  that,  in  the  end,  I  went  with 
her. 

On  the  street  she  bought  a  newspaper,  quickly 
opened  it,  glanced  through  it,  and  exclaimed  de- 
lightedly: 


"Listen  here  —  over  fifty  thousand  girls  in  the 
ladies'  garments  trade,  ready  to  walk  out  of  the 
shops  at  the  first  call  of  their  union,  and  strike  for 
better  conditions."  She  paused,  then  said:  "I  am 
ten  years  in  the  trade,  and  believe  me,  I  had  the 
time  of  my  life  working  in  those  sweat-shops !  For 
years  we  have  tried  to  organize  ourselves,  but  we 
were  only  a  few  in  the  field.  It  was  hard  to  get  the 
workers  to  understand  the  conditions  in  which  they 
worked.  Our  last  general  strike  that  was  called  in 
1909  was  lost,  and,  mind  you,  the  girls  who  worked 
in  the  worst  sweat-shops  did  not  go  out;  they  were 
scabbing  on  us." 

"What  means  a  sweat-shop,  Clara?"  I  inter- 
rupted her. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?"  She  looked  at  me  in 
surprise.  "The  shops  in  which  they  work  sometimes 
from  fifty-six  to  sixty  hours  a  week,  in  dark,  dirty 
places,  for  terribly  small  wages,  and  treated  awful ! 
Those  are  the  sweat-shops.  Very  often  I  used  to  be 
thrown  out  from  shops  just  because  I  tried  to  agi- 
tate the  girls  against  such  conditions.  And  now,  at 
last,  we  are  getting  them  all,  even  the  underwear 
and  the  kimono  makers,  those  who  were  the  worst- 


24  One  of  Them 

paid  and  worst-treated  girls,  often  being  compelled 
to  pay  for  the  use  of  the  machines,  pay  for  needles, 
electric  power,  and  even  for  machine  oil." 

She  went  on  telling  of  the  struggles  they  had 
gone  through;  of  the  strikes;  how  the  bosses  hired 
gangsters  to  protect  scabs;  how  she  once  caught  a 
scab  and,  not  being  able  to  induce  her  to  stop  scab- 
bing, beat  her  up  so  that  she  was  afraid  to  go  to 
work  the  next  day. 

"I  assure  you,  I  had  not  the  heart  to  do  it,  but  I 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  We  were  striking  for  sev- 
eral weeks  and  many  of  our  girls  were  nearly 
starved.  Some  were  severely  beaten  up  by  the 
gangsters,  and  when  that  girl,  after  hearing  our 
pleas,  burst  into  laughter  in  our  faces,  I  lost  con- 
trol. But  I  was  so  sorry  afterwards  that  for  days 
I  walked  around  like  one  who  had  committed  a 
crime,"  she  concluded  in  her  simple,  frank,  unpre- 
tentious language. 

I  studied  her  as  she  walked.  Her  face,  bearing  all 
the  imprints  of  long,  hard  work,  was  in  strong  con- 
trast to  her  heart,  so  childishly  naive,  so  enthusi- 
astic, so  full  of  life.  Just  for  a  bit  of  joy,  she  was 
ready  to  forgive  the  world  all  the  wrongs  it  had 
done  to  her. 

'  The  club  was  her  only  solace.  A  child  of  poor 
Galicia,  having  hardly  any  education,  working 
since  she  was  ten  years  old,  she  zealously  strove  for 
education  in  the  evenings.  Soul-hunger  for  beauty, 


Clara  25 

for  art,  for  good  literature,  brought  her  to  the 
club,  to  which  she  willingly  gave  her  time  and  her 
money  that  she  might  help  to  keep  it  up,  to  build  a 
temple  of  art  which  might  help  educate  those  who 
were  so  brutally  deprived  of  education,  as  she  had 
been.  It  was  in  that  work  that  she  found  expres- 
sion for  her  beautiful  desires  and  rest  from  the 
monotonous  prosaic  life  she  lived  amid  the  sordid 
surroundings  of  the  crowded  East  Side.  My  admi- 
ration for  her  grew  more  and  more  as  we  continued 
to  walk. 

Into  a  dark  hall  on  Avenue  B  Clara  led  me.  On 
the  third  floor  we  stopped.  The  door  was  opened  to 
us  by  Clara's  mother,  a  tired-out,  elderly  woman  of 
fifty.  She  seemed  to  have  expected  me,  for  the  table 
was  set  for  two,  and  the  rest  of  the  family,  having 
had  their  dinner,  were  all  gone. 

From  the  attention  paid  to  me  by  Clara's  mother, 
I  understood  that  Clara  must  have  spoken  to  her 
about  me.  The  thought  that  Clara  might  have  in- 
vited me,  suspecting  that  I  was  in  need,  insulted 
mg.  I  sat  awkwardly  at  the  table  and  choked  with 
each  mouthful  of  food. 

"Try  this  little  cake,  you  will  surely  like  it.  Take 
this  too:  it's  all  home-made,"  her  mother  kept  on, 
insisting  on  helping  me  to  the  various  delicious 
cakes.  "Home-made"  echoed  painfully  in  my  ears. 
I  had  not  had  a  real  home-made  meal  for  so  many 
days.   Those  home-made  meals  I  used  to  get  in  a 


26  One  of  Them 

private  family  when  I  had  money  to  pay  for  them 
were  only  "made"  for  the  money  I  paid. 

The  meal  prepared  by  a  mother  to  suit  the  tastes 
of  her  children,  I  had  so  longed  for.  It  was  the 
mother's  touch  that  was  lacking  in  the  boarding- 
house  meals. 

I  watched  Clara.  She  certainly  had  a  good  ap- 
petite and  consumed  one  thing  after  another,  not 
fearing  that  the  "mistress"  will,  perhaps,  watch 
her,  thinking  that  she  eats  more  than  her  board- 
money  pays  for. 

"Are  you  not  happy  to  have  your  mother  and 
folks  with  you?  It  must  be  wonderful  to  be  to- 
gether!" I  exclaimed  longingly. 

"I  should  say  so,"  Clara  answered  self -content- 
edly. And  then,  looking  up  at  her  mother,  her  face 
suddenly  changed  its  expression  and  she  turned  her 
head  away  and  heaved  a  great  sigh,  much  to  my 
amazement. 

After  dinner  we  went  into  the  parlor,  furnished 
with  some  second-hand  chairs,  a  few  art  postals 
on  the  walls,  and  some  cheap  statuettes  of  Bee- 
thoven and  Mozart  on  the  imitation  marble 
mantelpiece. 

Our  conversation  again  turned  on  the  coming 
strike. 

"  I  think  that  the  best  plan  for  you  is  to  learn  the 
dressmaking.  True,  it  will  take  you  some  time  and 
you  cannot  make  much  money  while  learning,  but 


To  Learn  Dressmaking  27 

you  will,  at  least,  have  a  trade  in  the  end.  Without 
a  trade  you  will  very  often  not  find  work  even  in 
the  busiest  season." 

I  agreed  with  her,  but  how  was  I  to  find  a  place 
to  learn? 

"Now,  let's  see  —  Mr.  N."  —  she  mentioned 
the  name  of  a  member  of  our  club  —  "keeps  a 
small  dress-shop  and  I  am  sure  that  he  '11  take  you 
in  when  I  speak  to  him." 

"Is  he  really  a  manufacturer?"  I  exclaimed,  a 
ray  of  hope  creeping  into  my  heart.  "Why,  I 
am  sure  that  he  will  take  me  in!" 

I  was  a  little  surprised  to  have  a  real  "boss"  a 
member  of  our  club. 

The  very  same  evening  we  spoke  to  Mr.  N.  and, 
oh,  wonder  of  wonders,  he  told  me  to  come  the  next 
morning. 

At  six  o'clock  I  was  up,  impatiently  waiting  for 
the  clock  to  strike  eight. 

At  the  door  of  the  shop  I  met  a  gentleman,  some- 
what resembling  my  Mr.  N.,  but  older,  who  asked 
me  whom  I  wished  to  see. 

"I  am  to  see  Mr.  N.  He  told  me  to  come  this 
morning.  He  —  he  —  wants  —  to  give  —  me  a  job 
—  on  dresses." 

I  trembled,  discouraged  by  his  surprised,  dis- 
pleased look. 

"You  mean  my  brother.  Well,  I  don't  think  we 
need  any  help;  the  season  has  not  yet  begun." 


28  One  of  Them 

Like  one  who  had  suddenly  had  cold  water 
poured  over  her,  I  was  chilled  by  his  last  words. 

"You  see,  Mr.  N.,  I  am  only  to  learn  the  trade, 
so  that  it  does  not  matter  whether  it  is  busy  or  not. 
I  may  learn  something  till  the  season  starts  and 
be  able  to  earn  some  money  then." 

My  appealing  voice  must  have  impressed  him. 
He  opened  the  door  and  told  me  to  come  in  and 
wait  for  his  brother.  It  was  a  very  light,  clean, 
little  shop,  with  two  rows  of  tables,  —  ten  machines 
on  each  one,  —  one  long  cutting-table,  and  one 
table  with  a  pressing-board. 

A  little  after  eight  two  girls  with  dark  complex- 
ions walked  in  and,  looking  at  me  with  curiosity, 
they  turned  to  Mr.  N.  questioningly.  The  latter 
told  them  that  I  was  waiting  for  his  brother. 

At  half -past  eight,  that  half -hour  stretching  like 
a  century,  the  younger  Mr.  N.  came  in.  Greeting 
me  familiarly,  he  introduced  me  to  his  brother 
and  the  two  girls,  who  were  his  sisters,  and  who 
already  sat  at  their  machines,  increasing  their 
speed  by  singing  a  merry  Russian  song. 

"We  are  here  our  own  family.  There  are  two 
more  of  our  intimate  friends  working  with  us,  two 
Italian  finishers,  and  one  presser  —  that  is  our 
staff.  I  do  the  cutting,  my  brother  the  designing, 
and  so  we  are  all  working  hard  for  our  living,"  Mr. 
N.  concluded  smilingly;  and  bringing  a  bundle  to 
me,  he  asked  his  sister  to  instruct  me. 


First  Lesson  29 

"Do  you  speak  Russian?"  she  inquired  as  she 
bent  over  me  to  show  me  what  to  do. 

"Why,  yes,"  I  answered. 

"Oh,  is  that  so!"  she  said,  pleased  with  my 
answer  and  began  in  a  fluent  but  ungrammatical 
Russian  to  cross-question  me:  Where  did  I  come 
from?  What  did  I  do?  How  did  I  like  this  and 
that?  — never  giving  me  a  chance  to  answer  any 
of  her  questions.  She  told  me  all  she  could  about 
herself,  chattering  all  day  without  stopping.  About 
the  work  she  would  speak  with  high  authority, 
assuring  me  that  it  would  take  me  months  to  be- 
come a  skilled  worker. 

"Do  you  know,  Louis,  this  little  girl  speaks 
Russian?"  she  said  to  the  older  brother. 

"Does  she?"  he  answered,  looking  at  me  approv- 
ingly and  coming  over  to  our  table.  He  seemed  to 
regard  me  with  more  respect  for  knowing  Russian. 

"I  am  going  to  the  opera  to-night,"  my  instructor 
announced,  ripping  apart  the  yoke  of  a  waist  that 
I  tried  to  make  into  a  collar. 

"You  do  not  even  ask  me  with  whom  I  am  go- 
ing?" she  continued,  not  getting  any  reply  from 
me.  "My  gentleman  friend  is  a  musician,  you 
know,  and  we  often  go  to  the  opera.  Do  you  like 
music?" 

"Very  much,"  I  replied,  trying  to  discourage 
conversation,  for  she  gave  me  very  little  chance 
to  work. 


30  One  of  Them 

"What  about  your  gentleman  friend?  You  surely 
have  one  —  is  he  musical?" 

Heavens!   Will  she  never  stop?  I  wondered. 

"You  do  like  to  know  a  lot  of  things  all  in  one 
day,"  I  replied.  I  spoke  softly  so  as  not  to  dis- 
please her,  but  she  went  over  to  her  machine  and 
spoke  to  me  no  more  that  day. 

On  the  eleventh  day  of  my  apprenticeship  the 
long-expected  strike  broke  out.  The  very  small 
staff  in  our  shop,  being  so  closely  related  to  the 
boss,  did  not  stop  work.  My  employer  tried  to 
convince  me  that  it  would  be  very  foolish  of  me  to 
join  the  strikers  when  I  was  only  a  stranger  in  the 
trade. 

I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Indeed,  I  knew  very 
little  about  the  American  Labor  Movement  in 
general  and  less  about  that  particular  industry. 
Should  the  employees  in  my  shop  walk  out,  there 
would  be  no  doubts  for  me,  but  they  did  not.  Being 
in  the  first  stage  of  apprenticeship,  not  knowing 
the  people  nor  the  real  conditions  existing  in  the 
trade,  I  thought  that  I  could  be  of  no  help  to 
the  strikers,  so  stayed  in  the  shop  and  learned  the 
work.  I  could  not  make  up  a  garment,  nor  even, 
as  yet,  had  I  succeeded  in  making  a  straight  stitch. 
Still,  each  bundle  that  went  through  my  hands 
caused  me  terrible  sufferings.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
goods  would  look  up  at  me  reproachfully.  "So 
many  young  girls  fighting  for  a  better  chance,  for 


The  Strike  31 

more  freedom,  for  a  better  life !  Leave  us  untouched 
in  the  baskets." 

"But  I  am  not  injuring  them,  I  am  only  learn- 
ing," I  tried  to  quiet  my  conscience.  "I  am  learn- 
ing in  order  to  help  them  when  I  have  a  right  to 
stand  in  their  ranks  and  demand  the  same :  to  fight 
for  a  better  life,  for  freedom." 
!  Oh!  that  better  life!  Who  more  than  I  had  strug- 
gled for  it? 

Who  more  than  I  had  sacrificed  for  freedom  — i 
a  freedom  that  I  have  not  yet  realized? 

In  the  evenings,  when  I  walked  home,  I  tried 
to  slip  through  the  pickets  so  they  should  not  no- 
tice me;  for  they  would  not  believe  that  I  was  only 
a  learner  and  that  my  heart  and  soul  were  with 
them. 

With  delight  and  envy  I  watched  those  young, 
brave  children  in  the  picket  line,  not  fearing  the 
policemen  who  would  chase  them  from  one  place 
to  another,  nor  the  gangsters  hired  by  the  bosses, 
who  would  stain  with  blood  many  a  young  girl's 
face  when  she  dared  to  speak  to  a  scab  who  was 
under  their  protection. 

The  first  weeks  of  my  apprenticeship  did  not  go 
at  all  smoothly.  My  employer  friend  seemed  to 
grow  discouraged  with  me  because  I  still  did  not 
seem  to  distinguish  a  sleeve  from  a  front  or  a  back 
from  a  yoke. 


32  One  of  Them 

My  talkative  instructor  would  cry  out  in  disgust: 
"You  certainly  botch  up  all  the  work!  If  you  go 
on  this  way,  you  will  earn  enough  for  water,  but 
not  for  bread." 

Crowning  me  with  a  nickname,  the  first  day,  she 
would  often  tease  me  to  tears.  As  she  was  known 
as  the  "gypsy,"  she  called  me  "the  little  white 
angel,"  for  my  small  stature  and  my  white  com- 
plexion. Seeing  how  little  I  liked  that  name,  even 
the  beautiful  Italians  teased  me  good-naturedly. 

One  evening  the  elder  Mr.  N.  called  me  over,  and 
in  a  friendly  manner  advised  me  to  give  up  the  job. 
He  said  I  was  an  intelligent  girl  and  could  never 
concentrate  my  mind  on  the  machine  enough  to  be- 
come a  real  worker  and  earn  my  living  by  it. 

Another  blow  to  my  hopes.  Did  he  really  mean  it? 

"Perhaps  he  is  right.  I  shall  never  be  able  to 
learn  a  trade  if  I  progress  so  slowly,"  I  thought. 
"Perhaps  I  am  too  old  to  learn  anything  at  all. 
I  am  already  passed  twenty  and  am  still  helpless 
as  a  child." 

He  seemed  to  notice  my  depression,  for  he  imme- 
diately changed  his  mind,  and  accompanying  me 
home  that  evening  he  talked  to  me  for  a  long  time. 

After  he  left  me,  I  went  down-hearted  to  my 
room.  "What  shall  I  do?  How  much  more  must 
I  concentrate  my  mind  on  the  machine?  Am  I  not 
trying  hard  to  learn?  Why  does  it  seem  to  go  so 
slow?" 


Thoughts  of  Suicide  33 

The  other  girls  are  so  quick,  everything  from 
their  hands  comes  out  so  smoothly,  and  when  I  try 
to  do  the  same  thing,  I  start  so  fine,  but  it  comes 
out  so  crooked!  How  shall  I  learn?  How  shall  I 
learn?  That  question  kept  digging,  digging  in  my 
mind,  filling  me  with  despair. 

I  thought  of  my  older  boss. 

He  was  so  kind  to  me,  he  spoke  so  nicely,  with 
more  sympathy  than  any  one  else  had  done  since 
I  left  home.  No  one  till  then  had  inquired  how  I 
was  living,  not  even  my  room-mate  knew  how 
I  made  ends  meet. 

To  my  parents  I  had  to  lie.  Each  letter  I  wrote  to 
them  made  them  think  that  I  was  quite  contented 
with  the  new  life.  The  thought  that  they  might 
learn  the  truth  made  me  so  miserable,  so  miserable. 
Had  they  not  objected  to  my  leaving  home? 

I  was  to  be  strong,  I  was  to  overcome  every- 
thing. But  how,  how?  I  feared  that  I  was  too 
weak,  too  helpless  against  life.  I  saw  no  hope  of 
earning  enough  money  to  help  my  family  as  I  had 
promised.  I  saw  no  possibility  of  studying  in  the 
evenings  when  my  mind  was  so  worried  about  my 
daily  bread.  If  I  cannot  accomplish  anything,  what 
is  life  for,  then?  Lying  in  bed  that  night  I  began 
to  think  of  suicide. 

Oh,  how  I  wished  to  die  that  evening,  to  be  re- 
lieved from  the  eternal  anxiety,  from  painful  dis- 
appointments ! 


34  One  of  Them 

"But  suicide  is  a  selfish  thing,"  I  thought.  "If 
I  find  relief  in  that,  what  about  those  who  survive? 
Will  not  the  deed  kill  my  parents,  who  have  so 
much  faith  in  my  strength?  No,  I  shall  not  dis- 
appoint them;  I  shall  fight  until  I  succeed.  Others 
struggle  as  much  as  I  do.  I  have  heard  of  so  many 
who  have  suffered  as  much  and  more  than  I  and 
yet  were  successful  in  the  end.  Why  should  not  I? 
I  shall  prove  my  ambitions.   I  must." 

With  a  terrible  headache,  I  fell  into  an  unsound 
sleep,  my  head  whirling  into  a  heavy  nightmare. 

In  my  dreams  I  wandered  aimlessly  —  now  climb- 
ing up  muddy  hills  and  falling  back  from  the  heights 
—  now  fluttering  over  cities,  deserted  streets,  and 
dark  harbors.  Then  I  dropped  on  a  dock,  pain- 
fully watching  a  ship  sailing  —  something  was  in 
it  that  I  feared  to  lose  with  its  disappearance.  A 
tall  figure  in  white  appeared  before  me.  It  stretched 
its  hand  toward  the  sea  and  the  sailing  ship. 

"The  sea  is  your  life,"  it  said.  "In  that  ship 
is  hidden  your  future,  your  success.  If  you  are 
strong,  if  you  have  courage,  go  swim  after  it,  reach 
it,  and  you  will  conquer;  happiness  will  be  yours." 

With  the  last  words  it  faded  in  the  thick  fog, 
while  I  was  thrown  into  the  sea.  With  my  hands 
I  began  to  break  through  the  muddy  waves.  My 
struggle  had  no  end.  Many,  many  days  I  swam, 
but  the  faster  I  swam,  the  more  quickly  the  ship 
seemed  to  recede  from  me.    My  strength  gradually 


A  Terrible  Dream  35 

lessened.  I  grew  more  tired.  I  rallied  and  made 
great  efforts  to  swim  faster.  Little  by  little  the 
water  began  to  dry  out.  The  ship  disappeared  from 
my  sight,  and  soon  I  found  myself  in  a  swamp. 

I  was  beginning  to  sink  —  another  instant  and 
I  was  swallowed  in  the  mud.  "Help!  Help!"  I 
cried  out,  and  awoke. 

It  was  early  morning.  I  jumped  up,  dressed 
quickly  and  went  out  to  breathe  a  little  fresh  air, 
still  tired  and  under  the  spell  of  the  night's  terrible 
dream. 

Why  was  it  so  terrible,  after  all?  I  did  not  believe 
in  dreams,  but  that  dream  seemed  to  have  sym- 
bolized my  life's  struggle. 

On  a  bench  in  Union  Square  I  sat  waiting  for 
the  clock  to  strike  eight,  for  our  shop  never  opened 
before  that  hour.  Thousands  of  people  passed  the 
square,  most  of  them  garment-workers. 

So  many  people  could  learn  the  trade.  Why  not 
I?  "I  shall  learn  it  under  any  circumstances,  and 
that  quickly,  too,"  I  decided. 

I  reached  the  shop,  just  as  my  boss  who  had 
accompanied  me  home  the  night  before  unlocked 
the  door. 

"Good-morning;  who  threw  you  out  of  bed  so 
early?"  he  said,  and  added  smilingly,  "Now  we 
shall  see  what  we  can  do  for  you,  little  angel." 

"Oh,  please,  Mr.  N.,  you,  too!  You  must  excuse 
me,  if  I  ask  you  not  to  call  me  a  nickname.    I 


36  One  of  Them 

am  already  twenty  years  old  and  I  think  I  am  too 
old  to  be  teased,"  I  said. 

He  apologized.  "Why,  I  did  not  think  that  you 
would  feel  badly  about  it.  Goodness !  You  do  not 
look  twenty,  at  all.  I  thought  you  were  not  more 
than  sixteen  or  seventeen." 

His  sisters  came  in,  the  power  opened,  and  we 
sat  down  to  work.  During  the  next  few  days  I 
exerted  myself  to  the  utmost.  My  boss  helped  me, 
and  as  my  work  went  on  improving,  I  began  to  feel 
more  at  my  ease.  Another  two  weeks  and  no  more 
botching;  I  was  able  to  put  a  garment  together, 
but  I  was  still  very  slow  and  the  prices  were  poor. 
I  could  make  only  from  five  to  six  dollars  a  week. 
That  money  was  just  enough  to  live  from  hand  to 
mouth,  and  I  needed  so  many  things.  My  shoes 
were  worn  out;  my  clothes,  too,  were  shabby;  I 
had  nothing  but  the  dress  I  had  on. 

Meantime  the  strike  of  the  garment-workers  was 
settled.  The  workers  returned  to  their  shops  with 
great  victory,  their  union  recognized,  their  prices 
almost  doubled,  their  hours  reduced  from  fifty-four 
to  fifty  a  week.  We  still  worked  under  the  old  con- 
ditions. Our  boss  claimed  that  he  could  not  raise 
the  prices  because  his  concern  was  small,  and  could 
not  turn  out  much  work.  I  was  so  much  obliged 
to  him  for  the  favor  he  had  done  to  me  that  I  felt 
that  I  had  no  right  to  contradict  or  be  displeased; 
but  as  I  was  unable  to  better  my  scanty  living 


The  Employer's  Kindness  37 

from  my  small  means,  I  began  to  grow  discouraged 
again. 

My  idea  of  studying  in  the  evenings  had  to  be 
given  up  for  the  present,  because  I  worked  too  hard 
all  day,  and  in  the  evenings  I  had  to  do  my  washing 
and  mending  and  prepare  my  breakfast  and  lunch 
for  the  next  day,  since  I  could  not  afford  to  get  my 
meals  outside. 

"Heavens!  Where  is  my  freedom?  I  work  in 
the  shop  by  day;  I  also  work  in  the  evenings;  no 
time  for  anything  else  but  work  and  eat.  This  is 
not  a  very  interesting  life.  What  will  the  outcome 
be?" 

There  was  something  else  to  worry  me.  My 
boss's  kindness  to  me  created  such  a  warm  grati- 
tude in  me  toward  him.  Being  very  romantic^ 
and  foolishly  naive,  I  took  my  feelings  for  him  too 
seriously  and  began  to  fear  that  I  might  fall  in  love 
with  him.  I  had  heard  of  so  many  cases  of  em- 
ployees who  fell  in  love  with  their  employers  and 
the  sad  results  that  followed. 

But  I  wanted  to  lead  my  life  in  purity.  I  did 
not  want  any  one  to  soil  my  path.  I  feared  that  if 
life  continued  as  it  was,  I  might  be  plunged  into 
the  dirty  slough  as  many  others  were,  and  I  de- 
cided to  prefer  death  if  it  came,  rather  than  allow 
anything  to  happen  to  me. 

One  evening,  coming  home  from  work,  so  tired 
and  discouraged,  I  found  a  letter  from  home  with 


38  One  of  Them 

very  sad  news.  My  family  was  in  hardship,  and 
though  they  did  not  ask  me  for  anything,  I  knew 
that  if  I  could  send  them  money  it  would  be  of 
great  help  to  them. 

What  was  I  to  do?  I  hardly  had  enough  for  my 
board,  but  they  knew  nothing  of  my  circumstances, 
and  never  would  I  want  them  to  know.  When 
would  I  be  able  to  help  them?  My  father,  deprived 
of  my  help,  had  to  hire  some  one  in  my  place,  be- 
sides paying  the  chief  of  police  and  keeping  up  such 
a  large  family. 

"Oh!  when  will  it  end,  when  will  it  end?  If 
I  only  had  the  money!  Money!  Money!  How 
hateful  you  are,  but,  oh,  how  I  need  to  have 
you!" 

Enfolded  in  the  dark  clouds  that  again  spread 
over  my  horizon,  I  began  to  lose  ground.  My  head 
burning,  my  thoughts  in  confusion,  I  ran  down  the 
stairs  to  the  street  and  carelessly  wandered  among 
the  crowded  pushcarts. 

"A  penny!  A  penny  a  sweet  potato!  A  penny 
a  pickle!  All  your  heart's  desire,  only  one  penny!" 
rang  the  loud  voices  of  the  peddlers. 

Sweet  potatoes,  pickles,  bananas  on  the  push- 
carts, a  skirt,  a  waist,  a  front,  a  yoke  in  the  basket 
at  the  side  of  my  machine,  the  letter  from  home, 
money  —  my  boss  —  all  danced  before  my  eyes,  in 
dark  confusion. 

Flowers!  I  stopped  near  a  flower  store,  attracted 


A  Funeral  Bouquet  39 

by  the  American  Beauties  in  the  windows.  Un- 
thinkingly I  walked  in. 

"Well,  madam,  birthday,  wedding,  funeral  bou- 
quets, —  what  do  you  desire?" 

"Birthday,  wedding,  funeral  bouquets,"  I  re- 
peated absent-mindedly. 

"Funeral  bouquet,"  I  said. 

"How  much?" 

"How  much?"  I  repeated.  "Just  a  second." 
I  began  to  count  my  change  —  a  dollar,  twenty- 
five,  forty-five,  sixty-nine  cents.  "For  a  dollar 
sixty-nine  cents,  please." 

I  remember  the  man  looked  at  me  in  amazement. 

"Madame,  we  do  not  sell  for  a  dollar  sixty-nine 
cents  —  a  dollar  fifty,  if  you  please." 

"Let  it  be  a  dollar  fifty,"  I  said  carelessly. 

With  the  bouquet  in  my  hands  I  walked  home. 
My  room-mate  was  away  in  the  picketing  line  — 
her  shop  was  still  on  strike.  I  did  not  expect  her 
until  late  in  the  evening.   I  had  plenty  of  time  — 

The  flowers,  the  beautiful  white  roses,  the  lilies 

—  ah,  the  odor  intoxicated  me.  Why  did  I  not  get 
an  American  Beauty,  that  I  am  so  fond  of? 

An  American  Beauty  in  a  funeral  bouquet? 
Oh,  yes,  a  funeral  —  death  —  suicide  —  my  home 

—  my  people  — 

Slowly  I  turned  on  the  gas,  and  made  a  solution 
of  poisonous  matches. 


40  One  of  Them 

My  room-mate  returned  unexpectedly.  I  sent 
her  out,  and  quickly  drank  the  solution  — 

I  recovered  consciousness  in  the  hospital,  doc- 
tors and  nurses  around  me.  Unfortunately,  the 
matches  were  not  poisonous  and  I  was  brought  back 
to  life.  The  next  day  Clara  and  my  room-mate  were 
with  me  —  Clara,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"You  foolish  child,  to  do  such  a  silly  thing!" 

I  spoke  to  neither  of  them.  I  was  so  tired.  I 
wanted  to  be  quiet,  to  have  nobody  around  me,  to 
be  left  alone  to  my  own  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  in 

AFTER  four  days  in  the  hospital,  I  was  well 
enough  to  come  out. 

"Will  you  not  come  to  us,  where  mother  will  take 
good  care  of  you  for  a  time?"  Clara  begged  me. 

I  refused.  I  wanted  to  be  no  burden  to  anybody. 
She  brought  her  mother  to  the  hospital  and,  both 
insisting,  I  at  last  consented.  Where  else  was  I  to 
go,  my  last  cent  spent  for  the  flowers? 

Under  her  mother's  watchful  care  I  soon  began 
to  feel  better  and  wanted  to  go  to  work,  but  they 
would  not  hear  of  it,  until  I  was  completely  rested. 

My  thought  that  Clara  was  very  fortunate  in 
having  her  family  with  her  proved  unfounded.  She 
had  four  younger  sisters  and  two  brothers.  Her 
father  had  died  when  she  was  only  ten  years  of  age, 
and  as  the  oldest  in  the  family  she  was  the  first  to 
be  sent  to  work.  She  was  apprenticed  to  a  tailor, 
but  he,  instead  of  teaching  her  the  trade,  used  her  as 
his  messenger  and  oftener  as  nurse  to  his  babies. 
Very  often  the  ten-year-old  wage-earner  would  for- 
get her  duties  and  stop  on  the  street  to  play  with 
children  of  her  own  age;  then  her  employer  would 
scold  her  for  still  having  those  "childish  nonsenses 
in  her  head." 

At  sixteen  she  came  to  America.    As  a  skilled 


\ 


42  One  of  Them 

dressmaker  she  easily  found  work,  but  was  never 
paid  her  worth.  For  seven  or  eight  dollars  a  week 
she  worked  from  seven  in  the  morning  until  eight 
or  nine  in  the  evening. 

Living  on  three  dollars  a  week,  doing  her  own 
washing  and  ironing  and  mending,  she  saved  the 
rest  of  the  money  in  order  to  bring  her  people 
over  here.  When,  at  last,  she  succeeded  in  bring- 
ing them  over,  and  had  furnished  an  apartment 
and  helped  each  one  of  them  to  become  self-sup- 
porting, they  gave  her  little  appreciation  for  all  she 
had  suffered  for  them.  The  two  brothers  left  the 
home  to  seek  their  fortunes  all  for  themselves.  The 
older  sisters  went  to  work.  The  younger  ones  went 
to  school  and  through  Clara's  efforts  enjoyed  a 
few  years  of  education,  but  when,  at  last,  they  were 
able  to  support  themselves  their  respect  for  her 
was  gone.  They  would  make  fun  of  her  incorrect 
English,  make  light  of  her  ideals,  and  her  devo- 
tion to  the  club.  Having  profited  by  her  sacrifices 
and  gained  through  her  what  she  had  coveted  for 
herself  but  had  never  been  able  to  obtain,  — an  edu- 
cation, —  they  looked  down  on  her  because  she  had 
not  their  superficial  knowledge  of  American  cus- 
toms, language,  and  cheap  styles.  They  deemed 
that  she  lacked  culture  and  refinement  because  in 
the  public  schools  they  had  received  false  ideas 
of  externals.  Their  understanding  of  Americanism 
was  limited   to   speaking  English,  wearing  high 


A  New  Shop  43 

pompadours  and  powdering  their  noses.  Clara, 
with  her  delightful  simplicity,  her  love  of  real 
beauty,  her  great  big  sympathetic  heart,  so  ready 
to  help  every  one  who  appealed  to  her,  was  ignored 
and  trampled  on,  her  life  embittered  by  the  sisters 
for  whom  she  had  made  her  greatest  sacrifices. 

The  poor,  hard-working  mother  suffered  from 
the  ingratitude  of  the  younger  daughters  and  was 
powerless  to  help  it.  They  would  not  listen  to  her; 
they  failed  to  realize  that  her  heart  was  bleeding, 
her  hair  turning  white  from  grief. 

After  two  weeks  I  was  strong  enough  to  go  to 
work.  As  I  did  not  want  work  with  my  former 
employer,  I  did  not  return  there,  but  went  with 
one  of  Clara's  friends,  a  cutter,  to  the  place  where 
he  was  employed.  It  was  also  a  non-union  shop, 
one  of  quite  a  number  —  almost  a  hundred  — 
that  remained  unorganized,  the  workers  trusting 
their  bosses'  promise  to  better  conditions  without 
the  help  of  the  union.  Like  sheep  led  by  wolves, 
who  try  to  make  the  sheep  believe  that  the  shep- 
herd is  their  enemy  because  he  does  not  allow  them 
to  run  freely  over  the  spacious  fields  and  gather  of 
the  best  grass,  and  that  without  the  shepherd  they 
would  enjoy  more  freedom.  The  foolish  sheep  in- 
fluenced by  the  wolves  run  away  from  the  shepherd 
only  to  be  all  eaten  up  by  the  hungry  wolves  who 
had  purposely  led  them  away  from  protection. 

It  was  the  height  of  the  season.    Labor  was 


44  One  of  Them 

scarce,  and  the  boss  was  obliged  to  grant  the  best 
union  conditions  in  order  to  prevent  his  workers 
from  leaving.  The  system  was  very  different  from 
that  of  my  first  place.  (Later  I  learned  that  each 
shop  has  its  own  system.)  I  felt  like  a  beginner 
again. 

The  f  orelady,  Yetta,  —  bless  her  heart !  —  was  a 
kind,  gentle  person.  She  gave  me  all  the  necessary 
instructions  so  that  I  soon  overcame  my  difficulties. 
Week-work  prevailed  in  the  place.  I  expected  to 
get  seven  dollars  a  week  to  start  with,  and  great 
was  my  astonishment  when  in  my  first  pay  enve- 
lope I  found  ten  dollars.  Destiny  seemed  to  play 
with  me.  I  was  so  happy  that  evening  when  I 
brought  my  pay  home!  Breathless,  I  ran  to  Clara 
and,  holding  the  envelope  tight  in  my  hand,  before 
her  eyes,  I  asked  her  to  guess  how  much.  She  could 
not  guess.  The  highest  she  could  think  of  was  eight, 
but  when  I  showed  her  the  envelope  she  shouted 
with  joy. 

"Here!  Here!  you  are  a  regular  dressmaker 
already!" 

"Why,  how  dare  you  think  otherwise?"  I  an- 
swered in  a  teasing  tone. 

It  was  not  the  money  that  made  me  feel  so  happy, 
it  was  my  worth  that  I  thought  of.  I  could  not 
have  expected  to  get  ten  dollars  a  week  after  having 
only  a  few  weeks  of  experience.  My  former  boss, 
when  I  made  five  dollars  a  week,  liked  to  remind  me 


Better  Times  45 

that  he  did  not  think  that  I  was  worth  even  that 
much.  Though  claiming  to  be  my  friend,  he  took 
advantage  of  a  learner,  as  nearly  every  other  manu- 
facturer does. 

Now  that  I  was  able  to  make  ends  meet  more 
easily,  my  mind  was  at  peace  again.  I  began  to 
think  of  my  home  and  decided  to  send  for  my 
younger  brother,  a  strongly  built  lad,  now  about 
eighteen.  He,  I  thought,  having  a  good  trade,  will 
soon  be  able  to  earn  money  and  both  of  us  will  help 
the  rest  of  the  family.  Here  again  my  friend  Clara 
helped  me  —  she  gave  me  a  loan  of  fifty  dollars  on 
payments  of  three  dollars  a  week.  The  money  I 
sent  home  for  my  brother's  ticket.  I  went  on  im- 
proving in  my  work  and  soon  I  was  sent  occasion- 
ally to  the  sample-room,  and  so  became  a  sample- 
maker. 

Things  once  more  went  on  smoothly.  The 
strength  of  youth  conquered  and  my  cheerfulness 
returned.  Again,  I  went  singing  among  my  friends, 
infecting  them  with  my  joyousness.  Even  in  the 
shop  I  was  happy.  My  neighbors  were  very  kind. 
Each  one  would  help  the  other  out  of  difficulties 
in  the  work. 

At  lunch-time  very  few  of  us  would  go  out.  We 
ate  together.  Bologna  sausages,  corned  beef,  the 
Italians'  eggplant  fried  in  olive  oil  —  all  spread  a 
mixed,  unpleasant  smell  over  the  shop.   The  few 


46  One  of  Them 

girls  at  my  table  would  exchange  food  with  each 
other,  a  cherry  chocolate  for  an  orange,  a  piece 
of  apple  for  a  banana,  a  corned-beef  sandwich  for 
some  white  fish.  I  would  take  part  in  the  conver- 
sation, but  never  shared  in  the  exchange  of  food. 
Their  kind  offerings  to  me  I  refused  also,  for  I  had 
nothing  to  give  in  return.  My  lunch  consisted  of 
either  a  cheese  sandwich  and  milk  or  an  egg  and  milk. 
The  pint  of  milk  I  bought  every  morning  for  my 
breakfast  had  to  be  used  up,  so  I  had  a  small  bottle 
and  would  always  bring  the  rest  of  it  for  my  lunch. 

"No  wonder  you  are  so  white  —  living  on  noth- 
ing but  milk,"  they  would  often  tease  me. 

I  told  them  I  liked  nothing  else,  though  often 
their  pickles  and  smoked  fish  would  awaken  a 
sharp  appetite  in  me. 

Their  conversation,  so  different  from  the  vulgar- 
ities of  the  girls  in  the  sweater  shop,  was  much 
pleasanter.  There  was  little  talk  here  about  the 
"fellers,"  "swell"  evening  pumps,  and  lace  pet- 
ticoats that  the  six-dollar  wage-earners  in  the 
sweater  shop  were  constantly  discussing.  Here  we 
talked  about  questions  of  the  day,  world  happen- 
ings, music,  art,  literature,  and  trade  questions. 
One  fault  I  found  with  them :  their  indifference  to 
being  members  of  the  Waist  and  Dressmakers' 
Union.  They  would  belong,  —  they  all  agreed,  — 
if  they  worked  in  a  union  shop,  but  they  would 
not  trouble  to  unionize  this  shop. 


The  Need  for  Organization         47 

Although  the  conditions  in  my  shop  were  just 
as  good  as  in  the  best  union  shops,  —  we  had  every- 
thing except  the  recognition  of  the  union,  —  still, 
I  was  anxious  to  have  it  organized.  I  confess  it 
was  puzzling  to  me  at  first  to  understand  why  the 
boss  objected  to  his  people  joining  the  union.  As 
long  as  union  conditions  prevailed  in  the  shop,  why 
not  allow  the  workers  to  belong  where  they  ought 
to  belong?  Some  of  the  workers  in  the  shop  were 
union  members.  On  my  question,  Why  did  they 
not  have  the  shop  organized?  they  would  answer 
me  carelessly,  "We  should  worry  so  long  as  we  have 
union  conditions."  I  suffered  by  their  ignorant 
answers.  I  recalled  the  thousands  of  young  girls 
who  had  so  bitterly  fought  their  fight  only  a  few 
weeks  before,  and  I  argued  with  my  co-workers. 

"Don't  you  know  that  we  have  got  everything 
just  because  so  many  thousands  of  girls  fought  for 
it?  You  yourselves  admit  that  the  standards  here 
were  much  lower  before  the  general  strike  was 
called.  You  only  got  increases  when  the  girls 
in  the  other  shops  won  them.  Do  you  think  that 
our  boss,  no  matter  how  kind  he  is,  would  reduce 
four  hours  a  week  if  it  were  not  for  the  strike?  We 
workers  must  all  do  our  share.  It  is  not  fair  to 
stand  aside  and  let  others  fight  and  spend  their 
money  to  keep  up  an  organization  when  we  all  get 
the  benefits  from  it. 

"There  must  be  reasons  why  the  boss  does  not 


48  One  of  Them 

want  a  union  shop.  I  am  not  criticizing  our  boss. 
I  admit  that  he  is  a  fair  man.  But  don't  you  know 
that  for  the  sake  of  being  successful  in  business, 
of  making  more  money,  the  bosses,  even  the  best 
of  them,  will  exploit  their  workers  to  the  utmost? 
That  is  why  we  must  be  organized  so  that  we  can 
stand  up  against  them.  In  unity  is  our  strength. 
We  must  belong  to  a  union  in  order  to  protect  our- 
selves against  the  ruling  hand  of  capitalisin." 

But  the  workers  cared  to  know  next  to  nothing 
about  it.  Some  of  the  girls  would  answer  me 
rudely:  — 

"You  had  better  shut  up;  if  you  don't  you  will 
get  fired.  There  was  another  girl  in  the  shop  who 
tried  to  agitate  for  the  union  and  she  was  dis- 
charged." 

I  would  often  talk  to  Clara  about  my  desire  to 
organize  the  shop.  She  also  warned  me  not  to  do 
it.  "The  dull  season  is  approaching,  and  you  have 
not  any  money  saved  to  face  it,  so  what  will  you 
do  in  case  you  are  fired?" 

But  I  could  not  rest.  I  felt  like  a  criminal  to 
work  in  a  trade  that  is  organized  and  not  belong  to 
the  ranks.  I  could  not  imagine  that  there  were 
workers  who  as  yet  did  not  understand  the  value 
of  organization, 
i-  But  I  soon  found  the  reason  for  such  ignorance. 
As  a  rule  the  worker  in  a  shop  brings  to  it  his  or 
her  friend  or  relative;  that  friend  or  relative  brings 


Workers  Related  49 

another  friend,  so  that  in  most  cases,  each  shop  con- 
tains workers  who  are  closely  related  to  each  other. 
The  consequence  is  that  if  one  seems  to  be  misin- 
formed about  unionism,  all  of  them  get  the  same  idea. 
If  one  of  them  is  warned  by  the  boss  to  keep  away 
from  union  people,  most  all  of  them  obey  him. 

Particularly  among  Italians  the  bringing  in  of 
friends  is  practiced.  Very  often  you  see  in  a  shop 
a  set  of  finishers  who  are  nearly  all  Italians.  There 
are  mothers  and  mothers-in-law,  daughters  and  K 
daughters-in-law,  sisters,  and  so  on.  If  you  can 
persuade  one  to  join  the  union,  you  may  be  sure 
of  getting  them  all;  if  you  fail  with  one,  you  fail 
with  all.  It  was  so  with  our  shop.  All  the  finishers 
and  cleaners  were  Italians;  the  drapers,  Yiddish 
and  Italians;  the  examiners  were  Americans,  who 
considered  it  beneath  their  dignity  to  belong  to 
a  "labor  organization,"  especially  to  a  "Yiddish 
Union"  as  they  called  the  Waist  and  Dressmakers' 
Union.  The  operators  were  mixed  —  mostly  Jews, 
Italians,  and  a  few  Americans.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  they  were  all  related,  —  the  Jews  to  Jews,  the 
Italians  to  their  people,  —  and  if  some  were  mis- 
informed about  the  union,  the  rest  were,  also,  and 
hated  to  be  agitated  about  it. 

Realizing  that,  lacking  knowledge  of  the  trade- 
union  movement,  I  could  do  very  little,  I  decided 
to  report  to  the  union,  hoping  that  it  would  help 
me  to  organize  my  shop. 


50  One  of  Them 

When  I  went  to  the  office  of  the  union  and  asked 
for  the  organizer  and  told  him  what  I  wanted,  he 
appreciated  my  efforts  and  explained  that  the  or- 
ganizers were  only  too  glad  to  help  out  those  who 
wanted  to  be  helped.  They  had  been  trying  for 
years  to  enlighten  the  workers'  minds,  to  awaken 
them  to  self -consciousness,  and  to  help  them  organ- 
ize into  unions. 

"Without  a  union,"  he  said,  "the  bosses  drive 
their  workers  like  slaves;  they  do  not  fear  the  indi- 
vidual. If  any  one  protests,  he  or  she  is  promptly 
thrown  out  of  the  shop,  but  when  a  protest  comes 
from  all  the  workers,  not  only  from  one  shop,  but 
from  all  shops  equally,  the  bosses  must  listen  and 
treat  the  matter  justly;  if  they  do  not,  then  the 
workers  strike.  It  is  very  sad  to  admit  that  there 
are  still  workers  who  do  not  care  how  they  are 
treated.  Instead  of  demanding  their  rights,  they 
are  constantly  trying  schemes  to  win  the  bosses' 
favor  in  order  to  get  a  raise  of  one  dollar." 

He  spoke  the  truth,  —  there  are  many  workers 
who  would  do  anything,  even  injure  a  fellow- 
worker,  in  order  to  get  a  raise. 

Somehow  my  boss  learned  that  I  had  been  to  the 
union.  Any  one  else  in  my  place  would  have  been 
"fired"  without  any  explanation,  but  I  worked  for 
ten  dollars  a  week  and  worked  mostly  on  samples, 
while  a  sample-maker  usually  gets  fourteen  dollars. 
That  is  why  the  boss  first  tried  to  warn  me. 


Warned  against  Unions  51 

In  the  morning,  when  I  came  to  work,  the  de- 
signer, a  very  gentle  woman,  always  welcoming  me 
with  a  smile,  seemed  to  be  angry. 

"Why,  Lizzie,  I  am  surprised  at  you,  —  such  a 
sensible  girl  as  I  thought  you,  —  to  act  so  silly." 

I  guessed  what  she  meant,  but  asked,  "What  is 
the  matter?"  as  if  I  had  not  understood. 

"Tell  me,  are  you  dissatisfied  with  your  position? 
Is  there  anything  wrong  with  this  place?" 

"No,"  I  answered;  "I'm  satisfied,  and  I  think 
the  place  is  all  right." 

"Then  what  is  the  sense  in  going  to  that  damn 
union  r 

"'Damn  union' !  How  dare  you?"  I  wanted  to 
reply,  but  I  controlled  myself. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I  see  no  harm  in  it." 

"It  is  for  your  sake  I  warn  you.  I'm  only  a 
friend  to  you.  Don't  you  know  that  the  leaders  of 
the  union  only  care  for  your  money?  They  are 
not  doing  a  thing  for  you.  They  are  grafters;  that 
is  all  they  are." 

I  smiled  again.  Poor  soul!  She  was  so  sure  of 
what  she  said. 

Soon  the  boss  came  in  and  called  me  aside.  With 
the  authority  of  a  professor,  he  began  to  lecture 
me. 

"Look  here,  little  girl,  I'm  a  man  who  is  as  fair 
and  square  as  possible.  I  always  treat  my  workers 
as  good  as  I  can.    Everybody  is  pleased  with  their 


52  One  of  Them 

positions;  are  not  you?  Did  I  not  try  to  give  you 
all  chances  for  advancement?" 

"Yes,  you  did,  and  it  was  very  nice  of  you,  but 
you  did  not  raise  me  in  accordance  with  my  ad- 
vancement," I  answered. 

"Oh,  you'll  get  a  raise  next  season.  You  don't 
expect  me  to  raise  you  the  first  season.  But,  to  the 
point.  You  have  no  idea  what  grafters  the  labor 
leaders  are.  There  has  been  no  strike  which  has  not 
been  sold  by  them.  They  get  the  poor  working- 
people's  money  and  use  it  for  their  own  benefit. 
Now,  I  am  sorry  for  my  own  people.  Why  should 
they  waste  their  money  earned  through  hard  labor? 
The  union  is  only  a  bluff;  there  is  nothing  to  it;  it 
is  not  good  for  the  workers.  Now,  if  you  want  to 
be  a  sensible  girl,  do  your  work  and  do  not  mix  in 
other  people's  business.  You  can  stay  here,  and 
I'll  raise  you  a  dollar  on  the  week  when  the  next 
season  begins.  Now  I  can't.  You  see  the  dull 
season  is  coming  already.  Another  week  and  there 
will  be  very  little  work  to  do."  4 

I  thanked  him  for  his  kindness  and  sat  down  to 
work.  Now  I  understood  why  people  in  that  shop 
feared  the  union.  They  were  fed  with  the  same 
kind  of  lectures  continuously.  No  wonder  they  had 
an  idea  of  unions  in  general  as  organizations  where 
the  workers  were  cheated.  How  was  I  to  change 
their  minds?  How  was  I  to  explain  to  them  that 
this  was  only  a  trick  to  poison  the  workers'  minds? 


Joining  the  Union  J  53 

Later,  when  I  worked  in  other  shops,  I  heard 
similar  stories  told  to  the  workers  by  the  bosses. 

In  order  to  learn  what  our  unions  are  and  help 
organize  the  workers,  I  joined  the  union.  I  began 
at  once  to  look  up  the  reports  so  as  to  find  out  how 
the  general  strike  had  been  settled,  and  to  learn 
the  history  of  the  development  of  our  union. 
Since  the  year  1900,  the  union,  consisting  then  of 
very  few  members,  had  tried  earnestly  to  organize 
the  workers  and  to  uplift  the  trade.  The  strikes 
that  had  been  called  had  never  been  very  successful 
because  only  a  minority  of  the  workers  were  mem- 
bers of  the  union.  The  heroic  struggle  of  the  few 
resulted  in  long  weeks  of  starvation  among  the 
strikers,  broken  heads,  arrests  of  pickets,  and  work- 
house sentences  for  the  young  girls  who  tried  to 
better  their  working  conditions  rather  than  to  turn 
for  their  living  to  the  "paths  of  shame." 

For  years  these  few  heroic,  intelligent  workers 
had  fearlessly  carried  on  the  agitation  for  condi- 
tions that  would  make  possible  a  more  human  life 
among  their  ranks,  until  at  last,  in  1912,  the  big  &£* 
mass  of  down-trodden  workers  raised  their  heads, 
resp6nded  to  the  call,  and  began  preparations  for 
a  big  demonstration  during  the  coming  year. 

The  Manufacturers'  Association  in  the  dress  and 
waist  industry  controlled  nearly  two  thirds  of  the 
trade.  The  association  realized  the  widespread 
agitation  and  foresaw  the  strike  as  the  result  of 


54  One  of  Them 

the  growing  strength  of  the  union.  Having  the 
benefit  of  the  experience  of  the  cloak  industry, 
which  had  adopted  a  protocol  agreement  in  1910, 
the  association  had  begun,  as  early  as  November, 
to  confer  with  the  Waist  and  Dressmakers'  Union, 
wishing  to  adopt  an  agreement  that  would  prevent 
strikes  in  future.  On  January  18,  1913,  a  protocol 
agreement  was  consummated  between  the  Manu- 
facturers' Association  and  the  union.  It  aimed  to 
enlist  both  parties  in  an  effort  to  improve  condi- 
tions and  to  obtain  the  equalization  of  standards 
throughout  the  industry  by  peaceful  and  honorable 
means.  It  was  agreed  to  create  a  joint  board  of 
sanitary  control  to  insure  sanitary  conditions  in  the 
factory  —  sufficient  light  and  ventilation,  safety, 
and  freedom  from  fire  and  overcrowding.  A  board 
of  grievances  was  also  created,  consisting  of  ten 
members,  five  representing  the  union  and  five  the 
manufacturers,  to  adjust  all  disputes  and  settle 
controversies;  and  a  board  of  arbitration  to  decide 
all  disputes  that  the  board  of  grievances  were 
unable  to  settle.  No  strike  or  lockout  was  to  take 
place  until  these  two  boards  had  had  the  opportun- 
ity to  try  to  adjust  matters  between  the  disputants. 
A  wage  scale  board  was  provided  on  which 
likewise  both  the  manufacturers  and  the  union 
were  represented,  to  standardize  the  prices  to 
be  paid  for  piece-  and  week-work.  The  board 
was  to  reserve  data  and  statistics  with  the  hope  of 


Sub-contracting  55 

establishing  a  scientific  basis  for  the  fixing  of  prices 
of  week-  and  piece-work  throughout  the  industry 
that  would  insure  a  minimum  wage  and  at  the  same 
time  permit  reward  for  increased  efficiency.  The 
board  was  empowered  to  make  an  immediate  and 
thorough  investigation  into  the  existing  rates  paid 
for  labor,  the  earnings  of  the  operatives,  and  the 
classification  of  garments  in  the  industry.  Sub- 
contracting was  to  be  abolished. 

The  term  "sub-contracting"  is  used  when  one 
skilled  worker  in  a  shop  has  under  his  control  from 
one  to  ten  unskilled  workers;  he  is  responsible  for 
the  work  and  is  paid  for  it,  paying  to  his  helpers 
what  he  deems  necessary.  Sub-contracting  is  very  ** 
ruinous  to  the  workers.  The  sub-contractors  nat- 
urally try  to  make  as  much  as  they  can  from  the 
workers,  and  the  labor  of  a  garment  is  extensively 
subdivided,  each  worker  in  the  set  receiving  only 
one  part  of  the  garment.  As  he  quickly  specializes, 
working  on  that  part  exclusively,  he  increases  his 
speed.  But  the  subdivision  of  the  work  gives  no 
chance  to  the  workers  to  learn  the  whole  trade 
sufficiently  to  better  themselves;  thus,  as  learners, 
they  are  always  dependent  on  the  man  for  whom 
they  work,  receiving  from  him  from  three  to  six 
dollars  a  week.  The  speed  with  which  he  drives 
them  to  work  injures  their  health,  and  they  are 
also  the  cause  of  lowering  the  prices  for  the  skilled 
workers. 


56  One  of  Them 


A 


A  minimum  wage  for  week-workers  was  fixed. 

Operators  were  to  be  paid  by  the  piece.  They 
were  given  an  increase,  so  that  no  average  operator 
would  earn  less  than  thirty  cents  an  hour  on  piece- 
work. The  standard  price  per  hour  was  to  be  fin- 
ally fixed,  after  investigation  by  the  board,  within 
the  following  six  months. 

Besides  the  Manufacturers'  Association  there 
were  a  number  of  manufacturers  who  did  not  be- 
long to  the  association  and  they  signed  individual 
agreements  with  the  union.  They  were  called  the 
"Independent  Union  Shops." 

I  was  very  much  inspired  when  I  finished  reading 
the  "Protocol  of  Peace."  It  seemed  as  if  every- 
thing was  accomplished.  The  workers  had  at  last 
compelled  the  manufacturers  to  recognize  their 
rights.  Each  paragraph  read:  —  "Both  parties 
agree";  "Both  parties  are  desirous  — " 

I  thought  the  workers  in  the  union  shops  must 
be  happy,  for  they  seemed  to  have  everything  to 
protect  them,  and  I  wished  so  much  to  work  in  a 
union  shop.  But  I  soon  learned  that  it  was  not  so, 
that  so-called  "industrial  democracy"  existed  only 
within  the  pages  of  the  "  Protocol  of  Peace. " 

The  third  week  in  April  work  began  to  slacken. 
In  the  shops  where  a  high  grade  of  dresses  is  made, 
the  season  often  ends  that  month.  On  the  coming 
Saturday,  at  one  o'clock,  the  boss  in  my  shop 
informed  his  workers  that,  on  account  of  the  ap- 


Wages  Eeduced  57 

proaching  dull  season  he  was  compelled  to  reduce 
their  wages  from  two  to  three  dollars  a  week,  de- 
manding, however,  the  same  full  week's  work  of 
labor. 

What  were  the  workers  to  do?  Here  they  were 
like  sheep  led  away  by  the  wolf  from  the  shepherd. 
They  had  listened  to  the  boss  when  he  promised 
them  all  they  desired,  in  order  to  keep  them  from 
the  union,  and  now,  when  the  busy  season  was 
over,  he  took  advantage  of  the  workers  who  had 
no  union  to  protect  them  and  reduced  their  wages, 
being  sure  that  in  the  dull  season  they  would  stay 
for  less  money. 

Did  the  workers  at  last  realize  it?  Some  did,  and 
left  the  place;  those  who  remained  were  too  igno- 
rant to  realize  it. 

When  I  came  on  Monday  to  work,  everything 
seemed  so  different.  No  more  the  former  gentle- 
ness; the  foreman  was  more  particular  about  the 
work,  more  exacting  in  his  demands.  As  there  was 
less  to  do,  he  had  more  time  to  watch  everything. 
Even  the  nice  Yetta  was  not  so  gentle,  but  I  knew 
it  was  not  her  fault.  She  had  to  obey  the  instruc- 
tions of  the  boss. 

The  first  of  May  was  approaching;  the  union 
made  all  preparations  for  a  grand  parade. 

The  first  of  May  had  two  meanings  for  me.  As 
school-teacher  at  home,  I  always  celebrated  that 


58  One  of  Them 

day  by  going  off  with  my  pupils  to  the  woods, 
where  we  spent  a  merry  holiday  in  songs  and  games. 
Sweet  were  my  memories  of  those  bygone  May  days. 

The  second  and  more  important  meaning  was 
the  "International  Labor  Holiday."  Internation- 
alism appealed  to  me  greatly  and  I  decided  to  stop 
from  work  even  if  the  boss  should  be  against  it.  In 
vain  did  I  try  to  inspire  my  co-workers  with  the 
significance  of  the  first  of  May.  They  refused  to 
give  up  a  day's  wages  for  such  a  sentimentality. 

The  day  fell  on  Thursday,  a  bright,  warm  spring 
day.  Many  thousands  of  young  girls,  in  uniforms 
of  white  waists  with  red  collars,  formed  in  line, 
ready  to  march.  The  sun  illuminated  their  pale 
but  happy  faces.  As  they  walked  through  the 
avenues  and  streets,  looking  up  at  the  sky-scrapers 
where  they  slaved  all  the  year,  their  eyes  would 
shine  with  pride  and  hope.  They  looked  as  if  they 
would  speak  and  warn  the  world:  "Behold,  you 
who  keep  us  in  the  darkness,  no  more  are  we  to 
slave  for  you.  Together  we  stand  now,  —  men 
and  women,  creators  of  .wealth, — and  together 
we  shall  stand  to  fight  for  our  rights ! " 

I  kept  my  holiday,  marching  with  a  small  sepa- 
rate division  of  girls  who  gathered  from  different 
non-union  shops  and,  like  myself,  perhaps  risked 
their  jobs  for  observing  the  holiday.  The  rest  of  the 
day  I  spent  happily  with  my  friends.  But  I  paid 
for  that  day  with  many,  many  miserable  weeks. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  sun's  rays,  creeping  into  my  tiny  room 
on  the  top  floor,  joyfully  played  on  my  face 
when  I  awoke  early  the  next  morning.  I  lay  in  bed 
leisurely  stretching  and  relaxing  my  poor  legs, 
tired  from  marching.  I  was  still  full  of  the  events 
of  yesterday.  My  heart  beat  with  warmth  as  I  lay 
enjoying  my  sun  bath.  The  clock  struck  seven,  time 
to  get  ready  for  work.  Humming  a  favorite  Malo- 
Russian  folk-song  I  quickly  dressed,  took  my  usual 
breakfast,  —  a  roll  and  a  cup  of  milk,  —  which 
tasted  so  good  that  day,  and  went  down  to  the 
shop.  It  was  a  glorious  morning.  The  little  buds 
on  the  trees  in  Madison  Square  were  just  opening 
into  beautiful  bloom  and  spread  a  pleasant  fra- 
grance around.  The  small  fountain  in  the  centre 
bubbled,  bubbled,  splashing  out  right  and  left. 
I  stooped  for  a  moment  to  enjoy  the  cold  sprinkles 
on  my  face. 

The  great  mass  of  workers  who  were  passing  by 
all  seemed  so  light-hearted.  It  was  the  beautiful 
morning,  the  warm  sun,  the  awakening  of  the  green, 
that  spread  the  good-humor  on  their  faces. 

I  liked  all  the  world,  and  in  my  heart  greeted 
everybody  and  everything. 


60  One  of  Them 

"Good-morning!"  —  "Good-morning!"  "A  fine 
morning!"  "A  glorious  morning!"  "Well  —  how 
did  you  like  the  march?  Was  it  not  splendid?" 
"Indeed,  it  was  wonderful!"  was  heard  all  around 
as  the  workers  met  on  their  way  to  the  shops. 

"Good-morning,"  said  I  merrily  to  the  foreman, 
who  happened  to  be  the  first  to  meet  me  when  I 
entered  the  shop. 

"Good-morning,"  came  an  angry  nasal  sound. 

"It  is  too  nice  a  morning  to  be  angry,"  I  teased. 

"If  you  think  that  you  can  make  a  living  on  nice 
mornings  or  May  holidays,  you  need  not  come  in 
to  work!"  he  answered  severely. 

I  understood  that  something  was  wrong  and  that 
my  good-humor  would  not  gain  the  foreman's 
favor,  so  I  quietly  went  to  my  machine  and  bent 
my  head  over  my  work. 

Meantime,  the  girls  began  to  fill  up  their  places 
at  the  machines.  Some  would  stop  near  me  while 
passing  and  question  how  the  march  looked. 

"I  paid  with  a  day's  wages  to  know,  and  I  think 
that  it  is  too  expensive  to  tell,"  was  my  reply  to 
all  of  them. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Union  lady!"  I  jumped 
up,  instinctively  feeling  that  it  was  I  who  was 
addressed. 

A  sudden  laughter  rang  over  the  shop  from  the 
amused  workers. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  table  stood  the  boss, 


Discharged  61 

calling  me  angrily.  With  a  sudden  foreboding  of 
evil,  I  walked  over  to  him. 

"Look  here,  miss,  you  know  that  I  think  that 
you  are  too  smart  for  my  place." 

"What  is  it?"  I  interrupted. 

"What  it  is?  Just  as  if  you  did  not  know!  I 
don't  want  you  to  make  trouble  in  my  shop. 
What  business  have  you  to  bother  my  workers? 
You  made  some  of  them  stop  from  work  when  I 
was  in  a  rush  to  finish  out  a  lot  of  dresses." 

"Why,  you  complain  all  the  time  that  there  is 
nothing  to  do  and  your  workers  sit  idle.  How  did 
you  happen  to  have  such  a  rush  all  of  a  sudden?" 

"Oh,  you  get  on  my  nerves!  You  seem  to  know 
everything  that  is  not  your  business!  I  am  not 
going  to  stand  it  any  longer!"  he  said  disgustedly, 
and  walked  away. 

On  Saturday  I  received  my  pay  and  was  dis- 
charged. And  so  I  lost  my  job  for  celebrating  the 
first  of  May. 

Now  that  I  had  to  look  for  another  job,  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  get  a  place  in  a  union  shop.  I 
hoped  that  in  the  union  shops  the  bosses  carried  out 
the  agreements  of  the  protocol,  but  I  soon  found 
out  that  the  workers  had  to  fight  for  every  bit  that 
the  agreements  were  supposed  to  bring  them. 

The  dull  season  had  already  begun  and  it  was 
not  easy  to  find  a  job.  In  the  shops  where  a  cheap 
line  of  dresses  or  waists  is  made,  the  busy  season 


62  One  of  Them 

lasts  until  July.  So  I  hoped  to  get  work  in  some 
of  these  places.  I  had  worked  on  a  good  line  of 
dresses  that  require  more  skill  and  care,  and  could 
expect  to  earn  but  very  little  on  the  cheaper  grades 
where  speed  was  required  more  than  skill. 

I  was  told  that  I  must  go  out  very  early  in  order 
to  get  a  job,  for  there  were  many  other  girls  who 
were  also  looking  for  work.  So  on  Monday  morning 
I  took  a  paper  and  went  out.  There  were  many 
advertisements  for  operators.  As  I  was  accustomed 
to  work  on  samples,  I  could  do  everything  on  a 
garment,  —  operating,  draping,  examining,  and 
finishing.  I  ran  over  the  lines  again  and  again, 
trying  to  find  from  the  advertisements  which  were 
union  shops  and  which  was  the  best,  but  the  lines 
told  me  nothing.  So  I  just  went  to  the  nearest 
place.  When  I  arrived,  a  score  of  girls  were  already 
standing  by  the  door  waiting  for  the  employer. 
They  did  not  look  very  friendly  at  each  other:  each 
one  fearing  in  the  other  her  competitor.  We 
waited  for  a  long  time,  until,  at  last,  His  Majesty 
the  Employer  came  out,  a  very  unsympathetic- 
looking  fellow  with  a  long  curved  nose  and  still 
more  unattractive  voice. 

"Vot  you  vant,  girls?"  he  asked  in  dry  broken 
English. 

The  girls  rushed  over  to  him.  "You  advertised 
for  operators."  "I  am  an  experienced  operator." 
All  of  them  began  to  talk  at  once. 


Looking  for  a  New  Job  63 

"Joos  a  moment,  joos  a  moment!  Don't  rush! 
I  send  the  foreman  out  to  you." 

We  waited  a  long  time  until  the  foreman  came 
out.  A  young,  neat-looking  man,  he  seemed  more 
friendly  to  us. 

"What  is  it  you  want,  girls?"  —  the  same  ques- 
tion as  the  boss. 

"You  want  operators,  don't  you?"  the  girls  all 
questioned  in  reply. 

"Let's  see,  what  can  you  do?"  He  took  each 
one  separately  and  cross-examined  her,  and  then, 
when  he  had  finished  with  all  of  us,  he  said,  "I 
need  only  two."  The  rest  had  to  go. 

I  felt  hurt,  not  because  I  did  not  get  the  position, 
but  because  I  felt  it  was  unfair  to  keep  all  the  girls 
waiting  for  more  than  an  hour  when  he  needed  only 
two.  As  it  was  after  nine  o'clock  I  thought  it  was 
too  late  to  look  for  another  job  that  day,  so  I  went 
home.  I  had  only  twelve  dollars  in  my  possession. 
Six  dollars  rent  for  my  little  sunny  room  on  the 
top  floor  would  leave  me  only  six.  That  amount 
could  not  carry  me  very  far. 

The  next  morning  I  went  again,  but  I  did  not  go 
before  eight  o'clock.  I  did  not  want  to  stand  with  so 
many  other  job-seekers,  for  I  could  not  push  them 
away  and  rush  to  the  boss  as  some  of  them  did.  I 
tried  my  luck  at  nine  o'clock  when  everybody  either 
had  a  place  or  had  gone  home.  I  found  a  place  as 
an  operator  on  West  25th  Street,  a  union  shop. 


64  One  of  Them 

I  did  more  observing  than  sewing  that  first  day. 
I  had  never  worked  in  a  union  shop  before,  and  I 
was  anxious  to  find  out  how  the  people  feel  there, 
how  the  organized  workers  behave  toward  one 
another.  I  knew  that  in  a  non-union  shop  the 
workers  have  very  little  to  say  about  their  con- 
ditions. The  employer  fixes  the  prices,  discharges 
a  worker  whenever  he  pleases,  and  changes  the 
system  of  the  shop  whenever  he  finds  it  convenient 
to  himself  without  considering  whether  or  not  it 
injures  the  workers.  In  a  union  shop  the  workers 
are  represented  by  a  shop  chairman  selected  from 
among  their  own  number,  and  they  have  a  price 
committee  to  make  prices  with  the  boss.  All 
seemed  to  be  well,  but  from  what  I  saw  in  that 
shop  and  in  many  others  afterwards,  I  was  con- 
vinced that  it  was  not  so  well  as  it  seemed. 

True,  the  workers  have  a  right  to  complain 
against  any  wrong  done  to  them  by  the  boss,  but 
J  not  all  the  workers  have  courage  enough  to  com- 
plain against  an  employer.  [Most  of  themjust 
shield  themselves  behind  a  few  brave  workers  who 
carry  the  brunt  of  all  the  criticism.  The  boss  often 
thinks  that  the  workers  as  a  whole  do  not  care,  that 
only  the  few  brave  ones  (" trouble-makers "  or 
"kickers,"  the  boss  calls  them)  raise  the  discontent- 
ment of  his  people,  and  if  he  finds  it  impossible 
to  discharge  these  few,  he  makes  their  lives  so 
miserable  that  they  are  forced  to  leave  themselves. 


Unsettled  Work  65 

I  did  not  stay  long  in  that  shop.  The  workers 
had  trouble  fixing  the  prices.  Work  was  slack,  and 
the  boss  said  that  if  the  workers  would  make  the 
garments  cheaper  he  would  try  to  get  more  work  for 
them.  But  the  people  were  wise  enough  not  to  be- 
lieve him.  When  the  season  is  over  no  more  dresses 
and  waists  are  needed,  even  if  they  are  cheaper. 
Besides,  if  the  price  on  a  garment  is  once  made,  it 
is  never  changed  in  the  busy  season.  So  all  the 
workers  refused  to  accept  the  unsettled  price  work. 

The  foreman,  thinking  that  as  a  "new  hand"  I 
would  not  have  courage  to  refuse,  brought  me  a 
bundle  of  unsettled  work.  The  eyes  of  all  the  work- 
ers were  fixed  on  me  with  eagerness.  They  feared 
that  I  would  accept  the  work  and  break  their 
solidarity.  But  with  a  glance  I  assured  them  that 
they  need  not  fear.  I  took  my  bundle  over  to  the 
counter  where  work  was  given  out  and  asked  for 
another  one. 

"What's  the  matter  with  this  bundle?"  asked 
the  foreman. 

"It  is  not  settled,"  I  said. 

"That's  nothing,  go  ahead.  We'll  fix  up  the 
price  all  right,"  he  answered. 

"I'm  sorry,"  I  said  again;  "I  have  no  right  to 
accept  it  when  others  do  not." 

"So  you  are  also  a  union  member,  eh?  Now, 
don't  be  foolish;  don't  wait  for  them;  they  are 
kickers;  they  don't  know  what  they  want." 


66  One  of  Them 

But  I  would  not.  "I  think  they  are  right,"  I 
answered. 

"Then  I  have  no  other  work  for  you.  Do  as  you 
please  —  either  take  the  work  I  give  you  or  go 
home." 

i  It  was  a  challenge.  The  chairman  came  over  and 
said:  "Listen,  Mr.  Foreman.  You'll  be  so  kind  as 
to  give  some  settled  work  to  the  girl,  or  we'll  all 
bring  the  work  back  to  you." 

The  foreman  answered  him  with  his  usual  ex- 
pression, "Mind  your  own  business." 

A  quarrel  began. 

I  stopped  the  chairman.  I  did  not  want  any 
trouble  arising  on  my  account  and  I  said  that  I  had 
better  leave,  but  the  chairman  would  not  let  me 
go;  so  at  last  I  got  a  bundle  of  work.  The  next  day 
when  I  came  in  to  work,  my  machine  was  out  of 
order.  I  had  left  it  in  perfect  condition  the  evening 
before  and  now  suddenly  it  began  to  break  the 
thread.  The  foreman  was  also  the  machinist  and 
he  was  too  busy  that  particular  day  to  fix  it.  My 
bundle  of  work  was  not  complete;  I  was  short  of 
some  collars.  When  I  went  over  to  the  counter  and 
asked  for  collars,  I  did  not  get  them. 

"The  bundle  was  complete,"  said  the  foreman. 
"You  are  responsible  for  losing  them." 

"But  I  did  not  lose  them,"  said  I.  "I'm  sure 
that  I  did  not  get  them." 

"You  did  get  them  as  well  as  every  one  else  got 


Forced  to  Leave  67 

them  in  their  bundles,  and  you  will  have  to  pay  for 
them  if  they  are  missing." 

"I  assure  you  that  I  did  not  lose  them;  I  only 
opened  my  bundle  this  morning." 

"Girls  very  often  take  certain  parts  home  and 
then  they  come  and  claim  that  they  were  not  in  the 
bundle." 

"I  hope  you  do  not  suppose  that  I  took  the  col- 
lars home,"  I  said,  feeling  a  little  offended. 

"Who  knows?" 

That  was  too  annoying. 

"You  may  act  as  you  please,  but  I  am  no  thief! 
I'm  sure  that  you  know  best  what  happened  to 
those  collars,"  I  said  in  anger. 

I  felt  too  insulted  to  speak  to  that  man  again  and 
left  the  shop. 

I  understood  that  my  machine  was  out  of  order 
through  the  efforts  of  Mr.  Foreman  and  that  it 
was  also  his  wish  that  the  collars  should  be  missing. 
He  saw  in  me  a  loyal  union  member  and  as  such 
I  was  not  desired,  so  he  had  annoyed  me  in  order 
to  cause  me  to  leave. 

Through  the  papers  I  sought  jobs  everywhere. 
In  some  places  I  was  too  late;  in  others  my  address 
was  taken  and  they  promised  to  send  for  me.  I 
tried  for  other  jobs  than  dressmaking. 

I  found  an  attractive  advertisement. 

"Flowers  and  feather- making;  good  pay,  steady 
position  to  right  party;  experience  unnecessary.  De- 
lancy,  corner  of  Clinton,  fourth  floor  —  rear." 


68  One  of  Them 

I  went  to  that  address.  An  old,  shabby  build- 
ing, no  signs  outside,  a  very  dark  hallway.  As  I 
climbed  up  the  wooden  stairs  I  had  to  grope  my 
way,  feeling  ahead  of  me  with  my  hands.  A  sudden 
fear  struck  me,  as  I  reached  the  third  floor.  It  was 
too  quiet  for  a  factory  or  the  smallest  shop.  A  few 
voices  from  the  fourth  floor  came  faintly  to  me. 
I  suddenly  recalled  that  nameless  advertisements, 
with  great  inducements  for  inexperienced  workers, 
were  often  traps  for  girls.  Breathlessly,  I  ran  back 
down  the  stairs,  risking  my  neck  in  my  mad  haste 
through  the  darkness.  In  the  street  I  looked  around 
the  building,  trying  in  vain  to  find  some  trace  of  a 
feather.     I  never  looked  for  feather-making  again. 

"  Operators  on  dresses;  very  good  pay;  steady  work. 
145  West  26th  Street,  7th  floor." 

I  went  there  at  noon.  A  few  young  girls  were 
walking  back  and  forth  on  the  sidewalk,  anxiously 
watching  the  people  who  entered  the  building. 

"Are  you  going  up  to  the  eighth  floor?"  a  pretty 
little  blue-eyed  blonde  asked  me. 

"No,  to  the  seventh, — why?  Anything  the 
matter?" 

"  We  are  out  on  strike  for  three  days  and  we  hope 
to  win  if  there  will  be  no  scabs,"  she  explained, 
looking  at  me  suspiciously. 

The  other  girls  stood  behind  her.  I  assured  them 
that  they  need  not  fear  me,  that  I  would  be  de- 
lighted to  help  them  if  I  could. 


Subterfuge  69 

The  elevator-man  smiled  when  I  told  him  to 
stop  at  the  seventh  floor. 

"You  is  gonah  eight  floor,  not  on  seven." 

"No,  on  seventh,"  I  insisted. 

When  he  stopped  on  the  eighth  floor,  I  repeated, 
"The  seventh  floor,  do  you  understand  me?" 

He  went  down  and  let  me  out  on  the  seventh. 
A  man  who  came  out  from  the  office  greeted  me 
very  pleasantly.  When  I  told  what  I  had  come  for, 
he  said:  "Sure!  Say,  Bob,  take  the  girl  up  to  the 
seventh  floor." 

"Is  not  this  the  seventh?"  I  asked. 

"No,  the  elevator-man  was  mistaken.  Here  is 
the  boy  —  he  will  take  you  up." 

"Listen,  Mr.  Bob,"  I  said  to  the  boy  when  we 
were  on  the  stairway.  "I  know  we  are  going  up 
to  the  eighth  floor  where  there  is  a  strike." 

"Yes,  they  advertise  for  the  seventh  so  that 
the  strikers  may  think  that  the  boss  has  shut  up 
the  place,  and  the  people  who  apply  for  jobs  can 
go  freely  up  to  work  so  long  as  it  is  on  the  seventh," 
the  boy  murmured  in  my  ear,  and  begged  me  to 
keep  quiet  because  he  would  lose  his  job  if  it  be- 
came known  that  he  told. 

I  walked  on  up  to  the  eighth  floor. 

Three  long  rows  of  machines  stood  empty.  At 
the  end  of  one  table,  three  middle-aged  men  were 
bent  over  their  machines.  A  short,  stout  gentle- 
man came  over  to  me. 


70  One  of  Them 

"How  do  you  do,  miss!  Will  you  please  just  sit 
down  for  a  minute?  I  will  get  a  machine  ready  for 
you.  You  will  find  this  a  very  nice  place  to  work 
in,"  he  said,  as  he  busied  himself  with  a  machine. 

He  did  not  even  ask  me  what  I  could  do,  where 
I  came  from,  or  what  for  —  the  usual  inquiries  to  a 
newcomer.  I  looked  around.  I  studied  the  men's 
faces  so  as  to  describe  to  the  workers  the  men  who 
were  scabbing  on  them. 

"  Where  are  your  workers?  "  I  inquired. 

"Oh,  I  am  only  starting  this  shop.  If  you  have 
any  friends  or  workers  you  know  of  you  can  bring 
them  in  with  you.   I  pay  very  good  wages." 

I  promised  that  I  would  and  told  him  that  I 
would  not  be  ready  to  start  work  before  the  next 
morning. 

"All  right;  the  machine  will  be  ready  for  you 
in  the  morning.  Don't  forget  to  bring  your  friends," 
he  reminded  me. 

The  girls  eagerly  surrounded  me  when  I  came 
down,  smiling,  to  them. 

I  gave  them  all  the  information  I  had.  A  brisk 
Italian  looked  up  at  me  approvingly. 

"Oh!  shu\  shu',  me  know  you  wuz  no  scab,  you 
a  nice  girl.  You  see,  we  is  striking  foh  no  raise. 
We  no  wonna  raise;  de  men  upstairs  no  union  men, 
they  no  pay  dues.   They  take  all  de  best  woik." 

She  spoke  more  with  gesticulation  than  with  her 
voice.   I  could  understand  neither. 


Helping  the  Picketers 


71 


The  other  girls  then  told  me  that  the  three  men 
upstairs  refused  to  belong  to  the  union.  The  boss 
would  give  them  the  preference  so  as  to  make  the 
union  workers  envy  them,  and  the  men  teased  the 
other  workers  continuously  and  made  fun  of  their 
foolishness  in  belonging  to  a  union  when  they  could 
get  more  from  the  boss  for  not  belonging.  When  a 
few  days  previously,  an  officer  from  the  union  had 
come  up  to  speak  to  these  men,  they  had  insulted 
him.  As  a  result,  the  workers  went  out  on  strike, 
to  protest  against  the  men  who  tried  to  break  the 
solidarity  of  the  shop. 

I  sympathized  with  the  girls.  I  was  delighted 
to  hear  them  speak  so  enthusiastically. 

"Will  you  permit  me  to  picket  with  you?"  I 
asked  them. 

"  Of  course,  sure ! "  they  all  shouted. 

I  forgot  that  I  still  had  some  advertisements  to 
answer.  I  had  never  been  out  on  strike  myself  and 
here  I  had  a  chance  to  stay  with  them  and  help 
them.  True,  their  strike  was  not  a  bloody  fight  for  a 
better  life ;  it  was  a  peaceful  strike,  a  protest  against 
a  few  ignorant  men  who,  for  a  few  extra  dollars 
paid  by  the  boss,  tried  to  destroy  the  spirit  of  or- 
ganization and  help  bring  back  the  old  conditions. 

Back  and  forth  on  the  sidewalk  we  paced,  watch- 
ing the  building  and  exclaiming  at  the  sight  of 
every  newcomer,  "A  strike  on  the  eighth  floor; 
do  not  go  up  there;  don't  go  up  there." 


72  One  of  Them 

The  policemen  would  drive  us  away  from  time 
to  time.  I  saw  no  reason  why  they  did  so,  as  we 
did  not  overstep  the  rules  of  order. 

We  chatted  all  afternoon  and  I  learned  every 
one's  story.  All  of  them  were  immigrants  who  had 
come  to  the  land  of  promised  freedom,  to  the  land 
where  people  "shovel  gold,"  as  Tina,  the  dark- 
eyed,  charming  little  Italian  had  dreamed.  She 
came  over  here  with  her  father  and  two  brothers 
to  shovel  up  a  lot  of  money  and  then  return  to 
Italy,  where  they  had  left  the  invalid  mother  and 
younger  sister.  They  had  dreamt  of  carrying 
money  back  with  them  to  buy  a  villa  and  live  like 
real  decent  people  do. 

That  dream  long  had  vanished.  Instead  of  that, 
Tina  now  belongs  to  the  union.  She  cannot  read, 
but  she  has  learned  through  her  friends  that 
working-people  are  also  decent  people,  that  only 
the  capitalists  shovel  gold,  and  that  the  working- 
people  of  all  the  world  must  unite  to  take  the  un- 
earned gold  from  those  who  do  not  work.  She  is 
very  enthusiastic  about  the  labor  movement,  but 
her  great  trouble  is  that  she  cannot  speak  English. 
She  told  me  all  this  in  broken  words,  gesticulating 
with  her  hands  and  her  whole  body.  "But  it's 
o'right,  me  go  to  school  nex'  wint',  me  lea'n  to 
speak  much,  and  read  all  the  papers." 

Julia,  the  blue-eyed  blonde,  came  with  her  par- 
ents from  Russia.   Her  father  had  not  had  a  trade 


The  Story  of  Lena  73 

in  Russia.  Here  he  had  tried  all  sorts  of  work, 
but  never  succeeded  in  earning  enough  to  support 
the  family.  Her  mother  would  get  home-work  from 
some  factories,  and  after  the  housework  was  done 
and  everybody  was  asleep,  she  would  sit  with  her 
head  bent  over  the  needle  trying  to  earn  the  small 
living.  Julia  had  had  only  one  year's  schooling. 
At  twelve  she  took  out  false  working-papers  and 
has  been  working  ever  since.  Her  mother  suffers 
from  her  eyes  lately  and  cannot  sew  any  more. 
There  is  a  younger  brother  whom  they  keep  in 
high  school,  so  that  when  he  graduates  he  shall  be 
better  off  than  a  "common  worker."  Julia  now 
is  the  main  support  of  the  family.  Her  only  recrea- 
tion she  finds  in  the  Settlement  House  on  Henry 
Street,  where  she  has  evening  classes,  music,  lec- 
tures, and  a  club. 

Lena,  also  an  immigrant  from  Russia,  had  had 
a  better  life.  Her  family  was  independent  of  her 
wages  and  she  had  the  money  for  herself.  She  had 
not  cared  to  finish  school,  for  it  was  too  monoto- 
nous, and  she  went  to  work  as  soon  as  her  age 
permitted.  Together  with  her  chums  she  liked  to 
flirt  with  boys  on  the  street  corner.  Her  earnings 
were  spent  in  all  the  ice-cream  parlors  along  Grand 
Street  and  in  satin  pumps  for  dancing.  How  she 
loved  the  turkey  trot  and  the  tango!  The  breadth 
of  her  world  had  been  confined  within  dance- 
halls  and  ice-cream   parlors.    The  prince  of  her 


74  One  of  Them 

dreams  had  been  Jake  the  prize-fighter,  whom  she 
had  met  at  a  dance-hall.  She  spoke  in  a  frank  but 
wistful  tone,  when  she  told  me  of  her  former  sweet- 
heart. 

"My!  how  he  could  dance!  His  tall,  broad  figure 
would  sway  in  time  with  the  music.  As  he  stood 
beating  the  time  with  his  foot  and  his  body,  one 
could  not  help  but  be  proud  to  dance  with  him. 
And  he  could  fight  even  better  than  he  danced! 
He  had  already  won  his  third  prize.  To  be  sure,  he 
paid  with  a  broken  nose,  which  spoiled  his  beauty 
a  little,  for  he  certainly  had  been  beautiful  when 
his  nose  was  straight.  But  what  was  that  in  com- 
parison with  his  heroism,  for  he  certainly  was  a 
hero.  All  the  boys  feared  him,  and  my  chums  — 
how  they  envied  me!  That  was  four  years  ago," 
she  added  and  paused,  her  eyes  wistfully  looking 
into  space. 

"Then,"  she  continued, "  I  gave  up  all  that  sort  of 
thing  very  suddenly.  Sonia,  a  girl  who  sat  next  to 
me  in  the  shop,  set  me  thinking  one  day. 

"She  was  a  queer  girl,  that  Sonia.  She  never 
took  part  in  our  conversations.  At  lunch-time  she 
would  always  read  while  eating.  Often  while  her 
eyes  were  eating  the  book  her  hand  would  be  reach- 
ing out  for  the  food,  and  she  would  clutch  a  spool 
of  cotton  or  an  oil  can  and  bring  it  right  up  to  her 
mouth.  We  had  some  show  watching  her  at  lunch- 
time.  At  work  she  would  always  hum  sorrowful 


A  Garment  Worker's  Hero  75 

melodies  that  would  make  one  cry.  Everything 
about  her  was  so  sad  and  thoughtful. 

"At  lunch-time  one  day,  I  showed  the  girls  my 
first  picture  taken  with  my  sweetheart.  I  made 
Sonia  raise  her  head  to  look  at  it.  I  told  her  of 
Jake's  heroism  that  spoiled  the  shape  of  his  nose. 

"She  looked  at  the  picture  curiously.  'Hm,  so 
your  lover  is  a  hero;  now  tell  me  what  is  he  fighting 
for?' 

"All  the  girls  burst  out  in  laughter. 

"  *  Why,  don't  you  know?  — for  a  prize,  of  course, 
and  when  he  becomes  well  known  he  will  make  good 
money  at  it,  —  take  it  from  me.' 

"Tor  what  will  he  get  the  money?' 

"'Why,  for  fighting,  of  course.  You  get  me 
sick  with  your  foolish  questions,'  I  answered  dis- 
gustedly. 

"'For  fighting  who  and  what?'  Sonia  went  on 
stubbornly. 

"I  hardly  knew  how  to  answer.  Who  does  not 
know  what  prize-fighting  is? 

"  *  Two  strong  fellows  come  together  to  fight,  and 
when  one  defeats  the  other,  he  gets  a  prize,  either 
in  valuable  presents  or  in  money,'  I  tried  to  explain. 

"  J  Who  pays  the  prize? ' 

"'Why,  the  people  who  come  to  witness  the 
fight.   This  is  one  of  the  greatest  American  sports.' 

" '  And  what  are  the  results? ' 

" '  I  told  you  what,  —  either  one  wins  or  loses.' 


76  One  of  Them 

"'I  mean,  what  happens  to  the  one  who  loses?' 

'"Oh,  nothing;  he  loses,  that's  all.  Sometimes 
he  loses  his  teeth,  or  he  breaks  an  arm  or  a  leg.  It 
is  very  dangerous  to  be  a  prize-fighter.  One  must 
be  a  hero.' 

" '  To  be  a  prize-fighter  one  must  be  a  hero,'  Sonia 
repeated,  looking  fixedly  at  me,  and  then  asked, 
'Are  you  not  afraid  to  marry  a  prize-fighter?' 

"'Is  n't  she  funny?'  the  girls  exclaimed. 

"But  Sonia  went  on.  '  Once  already  he  has  had 
his  nose  slightly  deformed,  and  what  if  he  will  one 
day  return  home  from  a  victorious  fight  with  his 
nose  smashed  altogether,  or  his  legs  broken?  Will 
you  be  proud  of  him  then?  Did  it  ever  occur  to 
you  that  the  fellow  whom  your  sweetheart  defeats, 
and  perhaps  cripples  forever,  has  a  mother  or  a 
sweetheart  or  even  a  wife  and  children  to  grieve 
over  him  and  to  curse  the  man  who  crippled  him?' 

"'If  you  want  me  to  tell  you  what  "hero"  and 
"heroism"  mean,  I  will,'  said  Sonia. 

"  But  the  power  started  and  we  began  our  work. 
A  million  thoughts  crowded  my  mind.  I  could  not 
work.  The  sport  of  prize-fighting  disappeared  in- 
stantly, and  I  thought,  What  if  Sonia  is  right? 
What  if  Jake  should  break  his  legs?  I  was  horror- 
stricken.  I  saw  my  Jake  no  more  a  hero.  I  saw 
him  a  piteous  cripple  on  a  corner  in  Grand  Street 
begging  for  his  living,  and  I  shook  with  fear  and 
disgust. 


Sonia  Explains  Heroism  77 

"After  work  Sonia  waited  for  me  to  go  home  with 
her.  Our  ways  lay  apart.  She  had  to  take  the 
subway  to  the  Bronx,  I  had  to  walk  to  Grand 
Street,  but  she  walked  down  with  me  and  immedi- 
ately began : — 

"  *  A  hero  is  some  one  who  does  something  great 
for  the  people,  who  fights  for  the  good  and  welfare 
of  his  country,  who  fights  for  people's  freedom,  like 
those  heroes  in  Russia  who  are  exiled  to  Siberia 
because  they  fight  for  a  people's  freedom;  like 
George  Washington  who  freed  the  American  people; 
like  Abraham  Lincoln  who  freed  the  colored  people 
from  slavery.  A  hero  is  one  who  risks  his  own  life 
to  save  some  one  else  —  not  one  who  cripples  or 
hurts  another  for  living,  or  sport.  Your  sweetheart 
hopes  to  make  his  profession  of  prize-fighting. 
Professions  and  trades  ought  to  be  helpful  to  the 
human  race.  A  doctor  is  to  heal,  not  to  kill.,  his 
patient;  a  lawyer  is  to  save  innocent  people  and 
bring  them  out  of  difficulties;  an  engineer  is  to 
build  better  houses,  new  bridges,  more  railroads  to 
make  it  easier  for  the  people  to  travel.  We  make 
waists  to  clothe  the  women  who  cannot  sew  for 
themselves.  All  honest  workers  make  their  living 
by  doing  something  that  is  good  for  others.  A  prize- 
fighter is  like  a  thief  or  a  murderer,  who  makes  his 
living  by  robbing  or  killing  others — and  the  people 
who  enjoy  such  sports  are  like  Indians  who  dance 
around  the  fire  where  they  burn  white  men  alive/ 


78  One  of  Them 

"I  swallowed  her  words  with  passion;  they  were 
high,  strange  words,  some  of  which  I  was  unable  to 
understand,  but  Sonia  seemed  to  have  hypnotized 
me.  She  was  so  fascinating  while  she  talked,  there 
was  such  a  strange  look  in  her  eyes,  I  wanted  her 
to  tell  me  more  and  more.  She  seemed  to  know 
such  a  lot  of  things. 

"From  that  day  on  the  ice-cream  parlors,  the 
dance-halls  lost  their  charm.  The  world  seemed 
to  extend  much  farther  than  Grand  Street.  I  no 
more  made  fun  of  Soma's  sadness.  I  sought  her 
companionship.  Everything  about  her  seemed 
soVonderful,  her  quietness  was  so  mysterious.  We 
became  friends.  I  learned  from  her  that  she  and 
an  older  sister  had  escaped  from  Siberia  when  they 
were  exiled.  They  were  just  three  months  in  this 
country,  working  in  the  Triangle  Factory,  when 
that  terrible  fire  broke  out,  swallowing  a  hundred 
and  forty-seven  young  people,  her  sister  among 
them.  She  looked  wild  as  she  pictured  the  terror 
of  that  fire.  Like  a  mania  the  picture  of  her  sister 
throwing  herself  out  of  the  burning  window  follows 
her  day  and  night.  I  understood  now  why  she  was 
always  so  quiet  and  thoughtful. 

"She  spoke  to  me  about  the  workers  getting 
organized.  I  did  not  understand  what  she  meant, 
but  I  enthusiastically  accepted  it.  In  fact,  I  liked 
everything  Sonia  liked  and  I  wanted  to  learn  and 
know  as  much  as  she  did.    I  began  to  read,  and 


Sonia's  Influence  79 

soon  realized  what  a  worthless  thing  I  had  been. 
I  went  with  Sonia  to  meetings,  became  acquainted 
with  a  lot  more  of  earnest  people.  When  prepara- 
tion for  a  strike  began,  I  threw  myself  into  it,  heart 
and  soul.  All  my  energies  were  now  concentrated 
on  organizing  workers  so  as  to  prevent  Triangle 
fires  in  the  future.  There  was  no  end  to  my  happi- 
ness when  the  general  strike  was  won.  In  my  shop 
alone  wages  were  increased  one  and  a  half.  —  Yes, 
thanks  to  Sonia,  I  have  changed  entirely.  I  go  to 
night  school  in  winter  and  I  read  a  lot  in  the 
summer." 

Absorbed  in  her  story,  which  she  related  in  an 
amusing  mixture  of  her  old  slang  and  her  newly 
acquired  better  words,  I  had  not  noticed  that  it  was 
quite  late,  the  streets  were  deserted,  the  workers 
all  gone;  even  our  two  little  pickets  were  also  gone, 
while  we  stood  talking. 

"And  Jake?  "  I  asked,  as  we  turned  to  walk  down 
the  street. 

"Yes,  Jake,  — I  spoke  to  him  and  told  him  all 
that  Sonia  said  and  that  he  would  have  to  choose 
between  me  and  prize-fighting.  Well,  he  chose  to 
fight.  At  the  time  of  the  strike  I  saw  him  among 
the  gang  of  strike-breakers.  I  look  back  now  with 
horror;  I  realize  now  that  if  it  were  not  for  Sonia, 
I  might  have  some  day  become  a  member  of  the 
underworld  by  marrying  Jake,  for  only  underworld 
people  could  accept  money  for  breaking  strikes 


80  One  of  Them 

and  beating  up  the  strikers  who  are  trying  to  fight 
for  a  human  life." 

Before  we  parted  Lena  said,  "You  must  meet 
Sonia  some  day;  she  will  be  so  pleased  to  meet  a 
girl  of  your  kind." 

"Why?"  I  asked  in  surprise.  "How  do  you 
know  my  kind?" 

"Oh,  from  the  first  minute  I  saw  you,  I  told  the 
girls  that  you  must  be  somebody !  You  remind  me 
so  much  of  Sonia,  only  you  are  more  cheerful,  your 
eyes  are  so  lively,  they  jump,  jump  all  the  time,  in 
all  directions,  and  I  like  it." 

Much  pleased  with  being  compared  to  Sonia 
whom  she  adored,  I  promised  that  I  would  be  glad 
to  meet  her  and  we  parted.  But  I  did  not  return 
home.  I  went  deeper  down  into  the  slums  swarm- 
ing with  Italians,  Jews,  Slavs,  and  Mongols.  The 
girl's  story  deeply  impressed  me,  and  puzzling 
questions  rose  in  my  mind.  Lena  had  had  an 
opportunity  to  finish  school.  Why  did  she  not? 
Why  did  she  enjoy  flirting  on  the  street  corners 
and  prefer  the  dance-halls  and  ice-cream  parlors? 

And  as  I  walked  on,  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
tumult,  into  the  hot  boiler  steaming  with  trashy 
humanity,  where  all  sorts  of  vices  can  find  a  splen- 
did hiding-place,  as  I  made  my  way  through  the 
multitude  of  children  that  crowded  the  sidewalks 
and  thoroughfares,  through  the  masses  of  suspicious, 
eagle-eyed  young  men,  lurking  about  and  trying  to 


Greenhorns  and  Americans  81 

entice  the  children  for  their  criminal  purposes,  an 
answer  rang  in  a  loud,  poignant  voice. 

Lena  was  a  child  of  those  streets  —  to  quote  her 
own  words:  "The  streets  were  always  so  lively,  but 
school  was  too  monotonous,  they  make  you  mem- 
orize, memorize  —  and  that's  all.  Of  the  forty  girls 
in  the  class,  teacher  paid  most  of  her  attention  to 
the  few  brightest  ones;  with  the  others  she  had 
little  patience  and  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  us  when 
school  hours  were  over.  Perhaps,  if  I  had  had  some- 
body to  make  me  interested  in  my  studies,  I  would 
have  continued  school." 

On  questioning  her  as  to  her  mother's  indiffer- 
ence, she  answered:  "Oh,  I  was  like  many  other 
fools  who  are  ashamed  of  their  parents  because 
they  don't  speak  English,  or  because  of  their  old- 
fashioned  ways.  To  me,  as  to  many,  my  mother 
was  only  a  'greenhorn,'  a  foreigner,  and,  of  course, 
inferior  to  me,  an  Americanized  girl.  —  So,  you 
see,  my  mother  had  no  influence  over  me." 

How  many  tragedies  are  there  among  foreign 
families  where  children  consider  their  elders  in- 
ferior because  they  fail  to  acquire  the  new  language 
and  customs!  How  often  have  I  heard  quarrels 
between  mothers  and  young  daughters,  or  sons,  or 
even  tots! 

i  "What  do  you  mean?  I  am  an  American  —  you 
are  only  a  greenhorn;  you  don't  even  understand 
what  I  say.   What  do  you  know  about  it!" 


82  One  of  Them 

And  the  poor,  embarrassed  mother  would  mur- 
mur hopelessly,  "Eh,  Columbus,  Columbus!" 
blaming  him  for  discovering  America. 

The  children  are  not  taught  that  the  traditional 
customs  and  old-fashioned  ways  of  their  parents 
may  be  just  as  valuable  as  their  modern  American 
ones.  In  their  ignorance  everything  not  American 
is  repellent  to  them. 

"  Not  being  controlled  by  their  elders,  being  lit- 
tle taken  care  of  in  the  schools,  and  living  in  dirty 
slums,  what  becomes  of  them?"  I  thought,  as  I 
watched  the  children  playing  in  the  streets. 

Lena  was  converted  by  Sonia.  Oh,  how  many 
Sonias  we  need  to  convert  the  Lenas! 


CHAPTER  V 

1  FOUND  a  position  the  following  week  in  a 
union  shop.  The  cheapest  line  of  waists  was 
produced  there,  but  it  was  very  busy.  The  girls 
rushed  their  machines,  hardly  having  time  to 
breathe.  From  the  shop  chairlady  I  learned  that 
the  shop  was  under  good  union  control  and  that 
fair  prices  were  paid  to  the  workers. 

Pleased  to  find  a  good  union  shop,  I  tried  hard 
to  increase  my  speed,  but  in  vain.  I  was  accus- 
tomed to  work  with  great  care,  stopping  after  each 
seam  to  examine  it,  while  here  the  girls  threw  out 
from  their  machines  dozen  after  dozen  of  gar- 
ments without  stopping  to  examine  a  single  article. 
I  liked  the  shop;  also  the  forelady,  a  little,  elderly, 
but  very  lively  and  energetic,  German  woman. 
Her  soft  German  accent  sounded  so  encouraging 
as  she  spoke  to  the  girls  while  passing  from  one 
machine  to  the  other,  finding  some  pleasant  word 
for  each  one  of  them.  Very  often  the  kind  creature 
would  get  scoldings  from  the  boss.  "Miss  Smith, 
you  neglect  my  place  too  much;  the  girls  behave 
here  as  if  they  were  out  on  a  picnic.  Can't  you, 
once  for  all,  stop  that  singing  and  giggling?" 

"Oh,  mein  lieber  Gott!"  she  would  exclaim  in 
defense.  "De  girls  iss  young  und  dey  can't  help 
laffing  a  little." 


84  One  of  Them 

To  the  girls  she  would  say:  "Please,  girls,  haff 
a  little  sense.  Don't  laff  when  de  boss  is  around. 
Don't  you  see  he  gifs  me  hell?" 

Persistently  as  I  tried  to  quicken  my  speed,  I 
could  not  accomplish  it.  I  worked  to  exhaustion, 
but  did  not  succeed  in  making  more  than  $1.10  a 
day.   So  I  left  to  look  for  a  better  place. 

The  hot  days  began,  the  heat  was  frightful,  and 
I  had  severe  headaches.  There  were  some  shops 
in  which  I  was  offered  a  position,  but  for  a  salary 
below  the  scale.  I  would  have  accepted  a  lower 
wage  until  the  new  season  began,  but  I  was  afraid 
that  by  accepting  a  lower  wage  the  girl  who  did 
receive  the  scale  would  be  laid  off,  so  I  refused  to 
accept. 

I  was  soon  to  part  with  my  cozy  little  sun  tub  — 
my  little  room  on  the  top  floor.  The  furniture  in  it 
consisted  of  a  single  bed,  a  table,  a  chair,  and  a  small 
bookcase  —  my  own  —  with  a  few  books.  Some 
art  postals  brought  from  Russia  hung  on  the  wall. 
It  was  very  cozy  and  clean  and  sunny,  though 
small,  and  it  was  the  best  I  had  lived  in  since  I  had 
come  to  America.  The  greatest  comfort  in  it  was 
the  private  door  into  the  hallway.  I  could  come 
and  go  whenever  I  chose,  without  disturbing  the 
people  from  whom  I  rented  it,  and  I  had  to  part 
with  it  because  I  could  not  spare  the  six  dollars  a 
month  for  rent. 

At  that  time  I  learned  from  some  members  of 


Domestic  Service  85 

the  Cooperative  League  of  a  few  apartments  which 
are  run  on  a  cooperative  basis.  The  rates  were  very 
low  —  $3.50  a  month  for  two  in  a  room,  $2.50  a 
week  for  board,  two  meals  a  day.  I  found  it  the 
cheapest  place  for  me  and  moved  in  there,  sharing 
my  room  with  Fannie,  whom  I  had  known  before. 

I  liked  Fannie  for  her  fearless  participation  in  the 
"movement."  Her  activities  in  the  shops  where 
she  tried  to  organize  her  fellow-workers  had  often 
cost  her  jobs,  but  she  fearlessly  went  on  agitating. 
She  could  never  bow  her  head  and  make  peace  with 
the  bad  conditions  prevailing  in  the  factories  and  she 
would  always  protest  against  the  slightest  wrong 
done  to  her  or  her  co-workers. 

It  surprised  me  very  much  to  find  her  doing 
housework  in  the  cooperative  house.  I  did  not 
think  it  more  attractive  than  the  shop,  nor  was  it 
exciting  to  such  a  restless  person  as  she  was. 

I  remember,  I  was  asked  once  why  I  did  not  ac- 
cept domestic  work  that  provides  one  with  a  good 
home,  instead  of  walking  around  idle  for  weeks  in 
search  of  work.  In  my  greatest  extremity  I  would 
never  have  considered  domestic  work.  It  seemed 
very  degrading  to  me  —  the  thought  of  giving  up 
all  my  liberty  for  a  good  home  —  if  it  could  be 
called  such  —  where  one  must  serve  and  obey 
every  member  of  the  family.  When  everybody  is 
in  the  dining-room  the  servant  sits  alone,  eating 
her  dinner  by  the  lonely  kitchen  stove;  when  they 


86  One  of  Them 

are  all  in  the  sitting-room,  she  sits  alone  in  the 
servants'  room.  When  all  are  out,  she  must  stay 
in  the  house;  the  days  and  hours  for  her  leisure  all 
prescribed  for  her.  The  atmosphere  in  the  shop 
was  slavery  enough  for  me.  But  if  I  made  my  fight 
by  day,  I  did  my  work  and  struggled  to  gain  better 
conditions  for  myself  and  my  co-workers.  When  the 
shop  door  closed  behind  me  I  belonged  to  myself. 
No  matter  how  hard  I  must  fight  for  my  existence, 
no  comfort  nor  better  pay  would  atone  to  me  for 
submitting  myself  to  the  arbitrary  control  essen- 
tial to  living  as  a  dependent  in  somebody  else's 
house.  Why  I  would  be  nothing  but  an  "I  want 
you." 

To  my  question,  why  she  was  doing  it,  Fannie 
answered:  "Oh,  it  is  not  very  interesting,  bu,t  it  is 
less  troublesome.  I  became  heartily  tired  of  the 
continuous  struggle  against  the  boss  in  the  shop, 
always  fearing  to  lose  my  job  because  I  have  the 
courage  to  stand  up  and  point  out  the  wrongs  done 
to  us.  Never  sure  of  to-morrow's  bread;  slave 
day  in  and  day  out.  Eh,  my  dear,  you'll  come  to 
know  as  much  when  you  are  here  as  long  as  I  am." 

"But  is  not  domestic  service  even  worse  slav- 
ery?" 

"Oh,  yes,  it  is.  I  would  never  go  into  it  except 
in  a  cooperative  house.  I  am  a  member  of  this 
house  as  well  as  others.  They  work  in  the  shops  — 
I  work  here.    As  little  as  I  earn,  I  am  more  con- 


A  Night  Discussion  87 

tented.  I  feel  free;  I  am  not  exploited  any  more. 
I  fear  no  boss,  no  foreman~who  would  discharge 
me  because  I  sympathize  with  my  fellow-workers. 
I  can  go  out  whenever  I  please  and  do  as  I  please 
with  no  fear.  Then  you  must  consider  that  I  am 
working  here  for  an  ideal  to  show  that  cooperation 
is  possible." 

It  was  a  hot,  suffocating  night,  one  of  those  sum- 
mer nights  when  the  air  in  the  tenements  is  ex- 
hausted and  all  the  fire-escapes  and  roofs  of  the 
East  Side  and  part  of  Harlem  are  transformed  into 
bedrooms.  We  lay  in  our  bed  unable  to  fall  asleep 
—  inhaling  each  other's  exhaled  breath. 

"Let's  go  to  the  roof,"  suggested  Fannie. 

The  roof  was  already  crowded.  Some  were 
asleep,  others  sat  in  groups  gayly  chatting,  amus- 
ing themselves  with  raising  and  lowering  a  pitch 
in  accordance  with  the  snoring  of  their  neighbors. 

We  settled  down  near  a  small  group  who  were 
engaged  in  a  hot  discussion  about  value  of  cooper- 
ative land. 

"But  here,"  said  one,  looking  around,  "all  these 
people  would  rather  choke  with  the  suffocating 
city  air  than  go  to  land." 

"Yes,  it  is  true,  they  would  rather  stay  here  than 
become  lonely  farmers,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

"Why  are  farmers  deserting  their  homesteads 
for  the  city?  Is  it  not  because  their  life  becomes 
too  monotonous?  Why  are  hundreds  of  city  people 


88  One  of  Them 

who  started  out  on  the  land  returning  to  the  city 
with  their  money  lost?  Is  it  not  because  they  felt 
too  lonely?" 

"There  are  other  reasons  for  it,"  said  a  third. 
"The  city  people  lack  the  knowledge  and  experi- 
ence necessary  to  succeed  on  a  farm.  And  often 
they  have  not  sufficient  money  for  modern  farm 
equipment." 

"We  can  succeed  in  bringing  back  the  men  to 
the  land  only  on  a  cooperative  basis.  We  need  to 
create  cooperative  colonies,  that  will  furnish  con- 
genial society  and  all  necessary  equipment,  and 
also  instruction  for  would-be  farmers.  That  is  what 
we  need." 

I  lay  stretched  on  a  blanket,  paying  little  atten- 
tion to  their  cooperative  farms.  My  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  view  from  the  roof  overlooking  the  spacious 
reservoir  in  Central  Park,  where  the  clear  blue  sky 
and  the  bright  full  moon  found  their  reflections. 
The  gigantic  trees  threw  long  shadows  over  it,  color- 
ing the  water  a  dark  green.  A  heavy  melancholy 
swept  over  me.  I  looked  around  me.  What  was  I 
doing  here  on  this  roof  among  all  these  people? 

I  felt  the  roof,  the  people,  the  thick  air,  as  a 
million-pound  weight  on  me. 

My  heart,  my  soul,  everything  within  me  was 
rent  in  pieces.  I  devoured  the  scene  with  wide-open 
eyes,  as  if  trying  to  embrace  the  high  blue  sky,  the 
trees,  the  water,  and  breathe  it,  breathe  it  all  in. 


Daybreak  on  the  Roof  89 

My  head  grew  dull  and  heavy,  the  sounds  of  my 
neighbors'  heated  discussion  came  fainter  and 
fainter  until  they  died  away  —  and  out  of  the 
quietness  came  soft  sweet  sounds  of  a  doleful  Rus- 
sian Burlak's  song,  "Uchnem."  Soon  I  was  im- 
mersed in  the  melancholy  melody,  which  caught 
and  carried  me  higher  and  higher,  close  to  the  sky. 
I  could  almost  touch  it  and  feel  the  blueness,  were 
my  hands  not  paralyzed.  I  was  swung  in  warm 
soft  clouds  and  lulled  by  something  so  charmingly 
sweet  and  mournful  —  until  the  sounds  all  died 
away. 

Startled  by  a  deep  sigh,  I  opened  my  eyes  and 
saw  Fannie  sitting  near  me,  her  hands  clasped 
tightly  behind  her  head,  her  widely  opened  eyes 
looking  wistfully  toward  the  east. 

The  day  was  just  beginning  to  break,  transform- 
ing the  dark  night  into  the  gray  morning.  A  big 
round  spot  melted  and  reddened  the  horizon. 
Fascinated,  I  sat  up  watching  the  sun  mount. 

Another  loud  sigh  heaved  from  Fannie's  heart. 

"How  wonderful,  how  glorious  nature  is!" 
Fannie  murmured  wistfully. 

jl  looked  down  to  the  reservoir.  Its  greenish 
water  gleamed  out  from  the  trees. 

"Let's  go  to  the  park,"  I  suggested. 

"Yes,  let's  go'down  there,"  she  said  approvingly. 

Quietly  we  walked  down  from  the  roof  and  off 
to  the  park.    The  streets  were  deserted,  only  the 


90  One  of  Them 

clattering  of  a  passing  milk-cart  or  bread-wagon 
disturbed  the  silence  from  time  to  time. 

The  leaves  and  grass  were  moistened  with  the 
morning  dew;  [the  fragrance  all  around  was  deli- 
riously sweet.  The  birds  singing  and  twittering 
their  morning  songs  greeted  us  merrily. 

Assured  that  no  policeman  was  around  so  early, 
—  for  it  is  forbidden  to  lie  on  the  grass,  —  we 
spread  our  blanket  near  the  reservoir  and  leisurely 
stretched  ourselves  on  it. 

"Oh,  Lisa,  how  wonderful  it  is  to  be  able  to  enjoy 
all  this!"  she  said  longingly.  "I  hope  that  you 
won't  spend  your  youth  in  the  shops." 

"You  don't  want  me  to  graduate  into  domestic 
service!"  I  said  indignantly  (that  traditional,  dis- 
dainful feeling  about  domestic  service  strongly 
clinging  to  me). 

"I  do  not  mean  that,  you  little  idiot.  I  am 
speaking  of  your  appearance.  You  can  graduate 
into  something  better  and  more  worth  while,"  she 
added,  looking  at  me  with  envious  admiration. 

I  looked  up  at  her.  Nature  had  really  been  a 
little  severe  with  her  —  a  very  romantic  soul,  she 
longed  for  love,  for  admiration,  but  was  often  un- 
noticed. Having  no  desire  to  discuss  myself,  I 
turned  our  conversation  to  something  else. 

"What  about  your  activities,  Fannie?  Did  you 
give  them  up  with  the  shop?" 

"Oh,  no,  not  at  all.   I  only  grew  tired  with  the 


It  Goes  so  Slow  91 

slowness  of  the  trade-union  movement.  Those 
peaceful  agreements  only  tie  the  workers  up.  The 
trade-union  motives  are  too  conservative.  Their 
only  demands  are  for  shorter  hours  and  for  a  raise 
in  wages." 

"But,  Fannie,  that  means  so  much,"  I  argued. 
"The  shorter  hours  in  the  shop  enable  us  to  devote  \ 
more  time  to  our  spiritual  development,  the  raise  in  I 
wages  enables  us  to  get  more  wholesome  food  and 
worthy  recreation.   With  time  and  money  the  best 
things  can  be  accomplished." 

"But  it  goes  so  awfully  slow!" 

I  could  not  dispute  with  her  very  much  for  I 
considered  my  knowledge  of  the  trade-union  move- 
ment not  complete  enough  to  defend  it. 

The  sun  had  risen  high  when  we  started  home. 
I  did  not  like  to  leave  the  park,  but  in  my  ears  still 
rang  the  words  of  my  one-time  foreman  —  "If  you 
think  that  you  can  live  on  nice  mornings  or  May 
holidays,  do  not  come  in  to  work." 

No,  I  could  not  live  on  beautiful  mornings.  I  had 
to  work  in  order  to  live,  —  I  knew  that,  —  and 
again  I  started  out  to  look  for  work,  knowing  that 
my  work  would  pay  me  only  for  a  bare  subsistence, 
not  for  a  living. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IT  was  hard  to  find  a  job  on  dresses  or  waists  at 
that  time,  but  I  recalled  that  the  season  on 
sweaters  had  just  started.  I  got  a  morning  paper 
and  found  a  job  through  the  advertisements.  It  was 
on  Grand  Street,  on  the  ground  floor,  in  a  room  at 
the  back,  with  two  small  windows  facing  a  dark, 
narrow  yard.  Two  knitting-machines  occupied 
almost  the  whole  length  of  the  room.  On  the  side 
there  stood  a  table  with  five  machines  —  two 
pocket  and  facing,  one  cutting,  one  button-hole, 
and  one  button  machine.  The  space  between  the 
table  and  the  wall  was  only  wide  enough  for  the 
chairs  to  be  placed.  I  was  given  the  last  machine. 
After  working  three  days,  I  asked  the  price.  The 
boss  told  me  to  wait  until  Saturday  so  that  he 
could  test  my  worth. 

The  conditions  in  that  shop  —  it  looked  more  like 
a  stable  —  were  terrible.  It  was  swept  only  on 
Saturdays,  for  in  order  to  sweep  it  some  articles  had 
to  be  moved  and  that  was  too  much  trouble  for  the 
middle  of  the  week.  The  dust  and  lint  from  the 
wool  were  inhaled  instead  of  air.  I  could  hardly 
speak  in  the  evening,  my  throat  would  be  so 
clogged  with  wool. 

Here  again  I  met  with  the  same  type  of  girls  that 


Another  Sweater  Shop      93 

I  had  met  in  my  first  sweater  shop  —  I  once  more 
came  in  contact  with  the  queens  of  imitation. 
There  were  only  four  of  them,  very  young  girls,  but 
their  high  pompadours  and  their  paint  and  powder 
added  years  to  their  faces.  In  those  merciless  hot 
days,  when  the  perspiration  pouring  down  would 
leave  grimy  streaks  alternating  with  blotches  of 
powder,  their  faces  were  grotesque.  Their  paleness, 
their  thinness,  all  about  them  bore  the  imprints  of 
their  sweated  labor  conditions,  but  they  cared  lit- 
tle. In  the  evening,  as  soon  as  the  power  stopped, 
powder-puffs  were  extracted  from  stockings,  faces 
were  smeared  again,  the  aprons  changed  for  the 
latest  style  of  short  hobble-skirts,  and  off  they 
went  to  pace  Grand  Street,  the  East  Side  Avenue. 

I  waited  until  Saturday  and  again  asked  for  my 
price.  My  boss,  who  had  evidently  been  in  the 
business  but  a  short  time,  asked  me  to  wait  another 
week. 

"I  am  sorry,  but  I  can't  stay  for  a  two  weeks' 
test,"  I  said.  He  offered  me  six  dollars  a  week. 
"What!  Six  dollars  for  such  a  hard  week's  work, 
fifty-four  hours  of  life  in  that  dirty  slum?"  I  cried 
in  angry  surprise,  enraged  by  his  offer.  "Give  me 
my  Pay>  please,  I  shall  not  stay  here  a  minute 
longer."  He  did  not  give  me  the  pay,  and  after  an 
hour's  bargaining,  I  remained  for  nine  dollars  a 
week.  If  I  had  only  had  a  few  dollars  to  tide  me 
over  the  dull  season,  I  would  never  have  remained 


94  One  of  Them 

there  for  any  amount  of  money,  but  I  saw  six 
weeks  of  idleness  staring  me  in  the  face  and  that 
determined  me.  I  hated  the  place,  I  hated  the 
boss.  I  pitied  the  girls,  —  driven  and  scolded  by 
that  miser  of  a  boss,  they  accepted  everything 
without  protest.  Their  self-respect  was  lost  under 
the  weight  of  ignorance  and  bad  conditions. 

"Why  don't  you  wash  your  hands?"  I  asked 
them,  seeing  their  unwashed,  oily  hands  touch  their 
food. 

"Oh,  you  expect  us  to  wash  our  hands  when  we 
have  only  half  an  hour's  time?" 

"Why  not?  It  is  more  important  than  to  powder 
your  faces  during  the  half -hour,"  I  answered. 
"Your  cheap  powder  and  paint  ruin  your  faces 
and  your  unwashed  hands  poison  you." 

"As  if  you  won't  use  any  powder,"  they  said, 
looking  suspiciously  at  me. 

"I  surely  do  not,"  I  said;  and  I  went  on,  giving 
them  my  bit  of  knowledge  of  hygiene. 

Their  suspicion  changed  into  confidence  and  they 
began  to  like  me. 

In  our  daily  conversations  I  tried  to  discover  if 
they  had  any  knowledge  of  workers'  unions. 

They  knew  there  was  a  knitting-workers'  union, 
but  they  had  never  cared  to  know  more  about  it. 

"Why  don't  you  join  such  a  union?  Is  it  not 
worth  while  to  fight  for  a  shorter-hour  day?  Is  it 
not  important  to  have  an  hour  for  lunch  so  that 


Discontent  in  the  Union  95 

you  could  wash  your  hands  and  rest  a  little  before 
you  resume  work?  Do  you  know  what  it  means 
to  your  health  to  work  in  this  room?" 

"Hey,  hey,  there!  Stop  talking!  Time  is 
money!"  would  come  the  voice  of  the  boss  from 
the  other  corner. 

"Sure  it  is!"  —  I  found  satisfaction  in  mimicking 
his  tone.  But  talking  had  to  stop.  How  I  wished 
that  the  season  on  dresses  would  begin  so  I  could 
leave  that  hateful  place. 

I  began  to  attend  the  regular  meetings  of  the 
Waist  and  Dressmakers'  Union  so  as  to  follow  up 
the  news  of  the  trade,  but  not  much  could  be 
learned  at  them.  The  time  was  taken  mostly 
by  a  few  discontented  members  who  interrupted 
the  meetings  to  accuse  the  union  leaders  of  dis- 
honesty. They  were  prejudiced  by  their  bosses 
through  the  sort  of  lectures  I  was  often  given  on 
the  unreliability  of  the  labor  leaders.  Their  minds 
were  poisoned  and  ignorant  of  the  facts.  If  a  com- 
plaint was  taken  up  and  the  case  was  decided  in 
favor  of  the  manufacturer,  they  would  ascribe  the 
decision  to  treachery  on  the  part  of  the  leaders, 
and  nothing  would  convince  them  that  they  were 
wrong.  Many  of  the  members  protested  against 
those  few  for  killing  their  time,  but  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  quiet  them.  Each  succeeding  meeting  was 
less  and  less  attended. 

I  did  not  know  the  leaders  at  that  time.    I 


96  One  of  Them 

thought  that  they  might  possibly  lack  ambition 
or  energy  to  push  matters  for  the  members;  they 
might  be  to  blame  for  not  understanding  the  people 
thoroughly;  but  I  was  sure  of  their  honesty. 

As  I  could  gain  so  little  from  the  meetings,  I 
thought  I  would  study  the  trade-union  movement 
from  its  history,  but  with  fifty-four  hours  a  week 
in  that  disagreeable  sweater  shop,  I  was  too  tired 
to  do  any  other  work.  My  evenings  I  spent  in  my 
favorite  corner  near  the  reservoir  in  Central  Park. 
Sundays,  friends  took  me  out  bathing. 
I  Another  girl  who  came  to  the  shop  to  do  the  same 
work  as  I,  inquired  of  me  about  the  work  and  the 
salary  to  be  expected.  I  told  her  all  I  knew  and  of 
my  experiences  with  the  boss. 

"You  be  careful;  he  will  surely  try  to  bargain 
with  you  for  two  weeks,"  I  said;  adding:  "Is  it  not 
a  pity  to  sell  fifty-four  hours  of  your  life  in  such  a 
place  for  nine  dollars  a  week?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  not  under- 
standing me. 

But  from  the  other  side  came  an  angry  voice. 
"Hey,  hey,  there!  Stop  talking!  Time  is  money!" 
and  I  had  not  the  chance  to  explain  to  her  any 
further. 

On  Saturday,  when  the  girl  asked  her  price,  she 
also  was  offered  six  dollars. 

"Why,  am  I  slower  than  the  other  girl?"  she 
inquired. 


Disputes  over  Wages  97 

"Who  says  you  are?" 

"  Because  she  gets  nine. " 

"Who  says  she  gets  nine?  Hey,  hey,  there! 
Come  over  here!  Who  said  you  were  getting  nine 
dollars  a  week?" 

"Why,  of  course,  I  am  getting  nine  dollars  a 
week;  you  yourself  are  paying  me  the  money." 

"It's  a  lie,"  he  said;  "I  never  pay  that  much  for 
this  kind  of  work." 

My  eyes  filled  with  rage  at  his  words. 

"You  should  be  ashamed  to  act  that  way!" 
I  cried  out.  "If  you  would  pay  me  a  thousand 
dollars,  I  would  not  stay  in  your  shop  a  minute 
longer!" 

So  my  term  ended  and  I  still  had  to  wait  a  few 
weeks  for  the  season  on  dresses. 

Oh!  how  I  hated  to  enter  another  sweater  shop, 
but  I  had  to.  After  about  two  weeks  in  two  other 
shops,  the  heat,  the  dust,  and  the  filthy  surround- 
ings drove  me  from  them,  and  I  decided  to  stay 
home  until  the  season  on  dresses  started.  I  felt 
guilty  walking  around  in  the  park  those  mornings. 
It  seemed  as  if  I  had  no  right  to  enjoy  the  fresh 
air,  the  trees,  and  the  flowers,  for  I  had  to  get  work. 
But  I  could  not  enter  the  sweater  shops  again. 

I  was  so  happy  when  one  of  my  friends  found  a 
position  for  me  on  samples.  Now,  I  thought,  I 
shall  be  settled  at  last. 

In  that  little  shop  there  were  only  four  of  us 


98  One  of  Them 

including  the  forelady.  She  was  a  very  thin,  pale- 
faced  woman  of  about  thirty.  She  appeared  to  be 
tired  out  from  her  long  years  of  work.  Her  big  round 
blue  eyes  looked  very  dull,  her  face  bore  traces  of 
past  beauty.  I  sympathized  with  her  and  wished 
to  be  friends  with  her,  but  she  did  not  treat  me  very 
friendly.  She  seemed  to  be  envious  of  my  youth, 
for  I  made  a  big  contrast  to  her  —  I  was  full  of  life, 
each  vein,  each  move  of  mine  beat  with  life.  I  do 
not  know  what  feeling  she  had  toward  the  boss, 
but  she  seemed  to  feel  hurt  if  he  happened  to  smile 
at  me.  The  forelady  would  try  to  put  me  back  in 
my  work.  Realizing  that  she  did  it  purposely,  I 
thought  it  better  to  leave.  I  was  not  worried  now 
the  season  had  started  and  it  would  be  easy  to  find 
a  job. 

With  bitterness  in  my  heart  I  recall  that  sum- 
mer of  so  many  unwilling  adventures  which  I  had 
encountered  in  my  endeavor  to  get  settled  at  work. 
When  I  left  the  last  shop,  I  found  a  job  as  draper 
the  next  day.  It  was  an  independent  union  shop. 
About  sixty  people  worked  there.  All  were  piece- 
workers, even  the  finishers,  and  I  was  told  that  all 
earned  good  wages.  There  were  four  drapers,  who 
earned  from  twenty-six  to  thirty  dollars  a  week. 
I  only  made  a  dollar  and  a  half  the  first  day,  and 
in  the  evening  the  boss  called  me  over  and  said :  — 

"Listen,  little  girl.  I  like  your  work  very  much, 
but  you  are  too  slow.  I  need  the  quickest  hands." 


Sample-making  99 

"Oh,  but  this  is  the  first  day.  I  will  work  much 
more  quickly  when  I  am  accustomed  to  it,"  I  ap- 
pealed to  him. 

"I  am  sorry,  but  I  am  in  a  rush  with  my  work. 
Can  you  run  a  machine?" 
,   "Oh,  yes,  I  am  a  sample-maker." 

"Then  I  have  a  job  for  you.  The  jobbers  for 
whom  I  am  doing  contracting  need  sample-makers. 
If  you  wish,  you  can  go  up  there  in  the  morning 
to  work." 

The  next  morning  I  reported  to  the  place  as 
directed.  All  the  work  was  made  by  outside  con- 
tractors, who  sent  the  finished  garments  to  the 
jobber's  office,  where  they  were  packed  and  shipped 
to  the  customers. 

The  designer  liked  my  work  and  paid  me  the 
sample-worker's  scale  —  fourteen  dollars  a  week. 
Fourteen  dollars  a  week!  Was  I  not  fortunate? 
I  thought.  I  sat  calculating  and  planning  how  to 
manage  it.  I'll  manage  to  live  on  six  dollars,  hire 
a  teacher  so  I  can  study  English,  spend  a  dollar  a 
week  on  opera  when  the  season  opens,  and  save  the 
rest. 

I  was  happy,  very  happy. 

My  new  boss,  the  jobber,  was  a  very  sickly  man, 
so  that  his  wife  was  the  actual  manager  of  the 
place.  She  was  very  harsh.  All  day  she  would  just 
wander  from  the  office  into  the  sample-room,  from 
there  to  the  packing-room,  from  the  packing-room 


100  One  of  Them 

to  the  show-room,  and  back.  Her  unpleasant,  com- 
menting voice  would  be  heard  continuously.  Even 
the  boss  feared  her,  and  would  shrivel  in  her  pres- 
ence. With  young  girls,  however,  he  behaved 
much  more  bravely  and,  seizing  favorable  moments 
when  his  wife  was  not  around,  he  would  flirt  with 
the  models  and  the  packers  and  often  act  very 
shamelessly. 

Nor  did  I  escape  his  attention.  One  morning 
when  I  was  alone  in  the  sample-room  he  came  in. 

"  Good-morning,  my  dear." 

"  Good-morning,"  I  said  quietly,  busying  my- 
self in  my  work  so  as  to  cut  off  any  conversation, 
for  I  did  not  like  to  be  alone  in  the  room  with  him. 

"My!  what  curly  hair  you  have!  Is  it  not  beau- 
tiful!" he  said,  beginning  to  smooth  my  hair.  I 
blushed  and  moved  away.  "Do  not  be  afraid, 
I  will  not  hurt  you,"  he  whispered,  his  eyes  wan- 
dering all  over  me.  "What  a  wonderful  form  you 
have.  If  you  were  only  a  few  inches  taller,  you 
would  make  a  perfect  model,  would  n't  you?" 
His  face  melted  into  an  impudent  smile. 

Again  I  moved  away  in  indignation,  but  before 
I  could  open  my  mouth  to  speak,  his  wife  stood  in 
the  open  door,  her  eyes  filled  with  rage  at  her  hus- 
band. He  shrivelled  and  immediately  slipped  out 
of  the  room. 

"So  you  are  flirting  with  an  old  man — for 
shame!" 


Accused  of  Flirting  101 

Tears  came  to  my  eyes,  a  lump  swelled  in  my 
throat. 

"Why,  I  — I  did  not  know  that  he  would  dare 
behave  so  to  me,"  I  cried  out,  gasping  for  breath. 

She  laughed.  "You  act  as  innocent  as  a  nun, 
eh,  sample-maker?  Now,  you  get  your  hat  and  go. 
This  is  no  place  for  you,  you  sample  flirter." 

"I  have  given  you  no  right  to  abuse  me  that 
way,"  I  said,  through  my  tears. 

But  she  would  not  listen  to  me. 

"Goon!   Goon!   Your  pay  will  be  ready." 

I  put  my  hat  on.  "Oh,  you  are  a  madwoman," 
I  said,  and  rushed  out. 

Tears  were  flowing  all  my  way  home,  and  when 
I  reached  my  room  I  broke  into  hysterical  sobs. 

"What  happened?"  Fannie  asked,  trying  to 
comfort  me. 

"Oh,  Fannie,  does  it  pay?  Why,  why  must  I 
suffer  so  much?  Am  I  an  idler?  Don't  I  want  to 
work?  But  why,  in  order  to  get  work,  must  we 
endure  insults  and  humiliations?" 

"Now,  now,  calm  yourself!  WTiat  is  the  matter?" 

I  told  her  all  that  had  happened. 

"Just  think  of  what  I  have  gone  through  this 
summer !  A  new  job  almost  every  other  day,  small 
wages,  sweat-shop  surroundings!  Oh,  Fannie,  it 
is  outrageous!   Where  will  it  end?" 

A  deep  sympathetic  sigh  answered  my  despair. 

"Why  don't  you  get  married,  Lisa?   You  are  so 


102  One  of  Them 

young,  so  full  of  life.  It's  a  sin  to  waste  it.  You 
are  so  pretty  you  would  make  an  ideal,  darling 
wife." 

"Is  that  an  ideal?  Is  marriage  the  remedy  for 
the  working-girl?  Why,  it  is  ridiculous,  Fannie! 
You  are  too  intelligent  to  talk  like  that.  The  kind 
of  man  I  shall  marry  is  likely  to  be  a  poor  wage- 
earner,  also  exploited  as  we  all  are,  and  our  lives 
would  be  miserable  under  the  present  conditions. 
As  for  marrying  for  money  —  you  know  what 
I  think  of  marriage  without  love.  Above  all,  I 
believe  in  the  economic  independence  of  women. 
Conditions  must  be  created  so  that  the  girl  shall 
not  be  driven  from  the  shop.  (The  long  hours,  the 
unsanitary  conditions,  the  small  wages,  the  fre- 
quent slack  seasons,  drive  the  self-supporting,  un- 
protected girl  sometimes  to  a  life  of  shame,  some- 
times to  suicide,  and  more  often  to  marry  any  one 
who  proposes  to  her. /She  finds  that  the  easiest 
way,  and  she  goes  on  breeding  human  stock  for 
misery's  pleasure.  Eh!  What  an  ugly,  contempt- 
ible world  this  is!  I  am  trying  so  hard  to  bring  my 
family  over  here  to  save  them  from  the  Russian 
autocratic  teeth,  but  I  would  rather  see  my  sisters 
dead  than  see  them  enduring  humiliations  from 
such  a  debauchee  as  that  jobber.  Brr!  It  throws 
me  into  a  fever  when  I  think  of  it." 

When  my  nerves  quieted  a  little,  I  went  out  and 
aimlessly  wandered  around  until  I  found  myself 


Dark  Forebodings  103 

on  Riverside  Drive.  On  a  bench  facing  the  Hud- 
son, I  sat  for  a  long  time,  absorbed  in  thinking. 
Am  I  not  to  find  a  decent  place  where  I  can  work 
and  get  a  living  wage?  Is  my  appearance  to  pre- 
vent me  from  keeping  a  job?  I  hated  my  face 
that  day,  because  it  had  attracted  that  clumsy  fool 
and  had  made  me  lose  my  job  at  fourteen  precious 
dollars  a  week. 

The  thought  that  I  had  to  go  out  early  in  the 
morning  and  look  for  another  position,  the  fear 
that  I  might  get  a  shop  similar  to  the  previous  one, 
made  me  so  unhappy  that  I  felt  I  could  much 
easier  jump  into  the  Hudson.  Yet  work  I  had  to 
get.  During  the  last  six  weeks  I  had  had  only  two 
scanty  meals  a  day,  for  I  had  to  provide  car-fare 
and  could  not  spare  a  dime  for  lunch.  My  younger 
brother  was  soon  to  arrive  from  Russia,  and  I  would 
have  to  help  him. 

The  sun  had  already  hidden  her  last  golden 
rays;  twilight  fell  upon  the  Hudson.  I  still  sat  on 
the  bench,  having  no  inclination  to  move.  The 
warm,  pleasant  evening  rapidly  enfolded  me, 
spreading  its  mysterious  beauty  all  around  me. 
I  sat  as  if  in  paradise  —  in  comparison  with  my 
room  where  the  air  was  so  choking  this  hot  July 
month. 

Boats — all  kinds  of  them  —  swam  up  and  down 
the  river,  leaving  the  water  wavering  in  long  strips 
behind  them.    Their  noise  allured  me  —  it  made 


104  One  of  Them 

me  homesick.  It  reminded  me  of  past  days  when 
on  the  river  at  home,  bordered  by  willow  trees,  we 
would  row  and  sing  in  the  quiet  evenings.  Some- 
times our  young,  happy  voices  were  caught  by  the 
wind  and  carried  away  to  the  older  folks,  who  sat 
quietly  after  a  day's  work,  resting  on  benches  near 
their  homes.  Far  out  on  the  river  away  from  civi- 
lization, away  from  the  gendarmes,  we  gave  vent 
to  our  revolutionary  songs  —  songs  of  our  future 
freedom.  Filled  with  hope,  our  voices  went  ringing 
higher  and  higher,  echoed  by  the  wood  near  by. 
How  sweetly  those  days  had  passed,  days  full  of 
hope,  full  of  wonderful  faith  in  the  future!  And 
here  I  sat  now,  broken-hearted,  disappointed,  tired 
out.  "Life!  Life!  Oh,  happiness  where  is  thy  sweet- 
ness!" A  mortal  anguish  swept  over  me,  wrapping 
me  in  a  heavy  melancholy,  dragging  me  down  to 
the  waters  where  the  many  little  fires  of  the  "  Pal- 
isades" took  their  evening  dips  in  the  dark,  quiet 
waves  of  the  Hudson.  That  spacious  river  below, 
those  beautiful  stars  above,  the  graceful  trees 
around  me  —  oh,  the  glory  of  it !  I  drank  it, 
drank  it  to  intoxication. 

In  my  ecstasy  I  would  not  have  thought  of  leav- 
ing the  park  had  not  my  stomach  called  for  food. 
I  had  had  nothing  to  eat  since  early  morning,  so  I 
made  my  way  toward  home. 


CHAPTER  Vn 

I  WALKED  along  Riverside  Drive  past  the  co- 
lossal hotels  and  beautiful  private  homes.  No 
light  was  seen  in  any  of  them.  It  was  a  pity  that 
such  comfortable  homes  were  empty  most  of  the 
year.  Their  dwellers  fly  from  one  country  to  an- 
other, from  one  resort  to  another,  to  spend  their 
time.  They  never  worry  for  bread,  they  never 
fear  to  lose  their  jobs,  they  never  wander  in  the 
parks  with  hungry  stomachs.  They  have  people 
—  thousands  of  people  —  in  mines  or  factories  or 
stores,  who  sweat  for  them,  who  hammer  out  the 
gold,  or  dig  the  coal  for  them,  and  they  easily 
spend  the  wealth,  never  giving  a  thought  to  the 
hard  labor  of  so  many  thousands  of  people,  who, 
with  their  happiness  and  often  with  their  lives,  pay 
for  the  pleasure  of  those  few  who  spend  their  lives 
in  long  vacations  and  eternal  luxury.  "How  many 
people  of  the  East  Side,  how  many  families  cooped 
up  in  tenements,  could  enjoy  these  vacant  com- 
fortable dwellings  and  this  lovely  air  of  Riverside 
Drive  and  Hudson  River!"  thought  I.  "Here  the 
houses  stand  of  no  use  to  anybody.  Oh,  how  un- 
fair, how  unfair,  the  present  system  of  life  is! 
Here  am  I  —  willing  to  work,  to  earn  a  decent  liv- 
ing, willing  to  sell  my  hands,  but  get  nothing,  while 


106  One  of  Them 

those  who  never  work  have  more  than  they  need." 
Did  I  envy  the  rich  that  evening?  Oh,  no!  I  hated 
them !  I  hated  them !  for  they  were  worse  than  high- 
way robbers  —  robbers  who  fear  nobody  in  the 
world,  who  rule  the  world  with  their  iron  power. 
And  the  world  tolerates  them! 

In  the  morning  I  found  another  job  as  draper, 
but  only  for  a  few  days.  It  was  a  protocol  shop. 
The  drapers  worked  on  an  optional  system  — 
some  were  week-workers,  some  were  piece-workers. 
If  a  piece-worker  refused  a  price  offered  by  the 
boss  on  a  certain  garment,  that  style  was  made  up 
by  the  week-workers  —  the  system  created  com- 
petition between  the  two  classes. 

When  I  asked  the  chairlady  who  represented  the 
workers  why  she  allowed  that,  she  answered,  "Oh, 
I  can't  help  it;  the  girls  don't  care  themselves, 
and  I  can't  waste  time  in  making  them  see  that 
they  injure  themselves." 

"But  can't  you  speak  to  the  boss?" 

"The  boss  purposely  wants  to  keep  one  worker 
against  another.  When  I  spoke  to  him,  he  told  me 
that  he  runs  the  business  as  it  best  suits  him.  If  the 
girls  would  care,  I  would  complain  to  the  union." 

If  the  times  had  been  better  for  me,  I  would  have 
stayed  there  and  tried  to  help  do  away  with  that 
system,  but  I  needed  money  badly  before  my 
brother  should  come,  and  working  there  I  could 
not  make  very  much  at  the  start,  so  I  left. 


An  Offer  Refused  107 

The  next  job  I  got  was  on  Spring  Street.  It  was 
a  very  small  place.  I  had  to  make  samples  and  do 
the  draping  and  a  good  many  other  things.  After 
two  days  the  boss  came  to  me  and  told  me  he 
needed  some  one  to  watch  the  few  girls,  but  as  his 
place  was  small  he  could  not  afford  to  get  a  fore- 
lady,  so  he  wanted  me  to  take  charge  of  the  oper- 
ators. The  finishers,  he  said,  he  would  look  after 
himself. 

I  refused  without  hesitation.  How  could  I  be- 
come aforelady?  That  would  mean  to  carry  out  all 
the  instructions  of  the  boss,  for  I  could  not  keep 
such  a  job  if  I  did  not  obey  his  orders.  I  would  have 
to  hurry  the  girls  with  their  work,  I  would  have  to 
bargain  with  them  on  prices  and  always  take  the 
bosses'  side,  offering  the  girls  less  than  they  de- 
served. I  would  have  to  order  them  to  work  over- 
time when  they  were  tired  from  a  hard  day's  work. 

"Oh,  no,  not  I,  I  could  not  do  it,"  I  said  to  the 
employer. 

"Then  I'll  have  to  look  for  somebody  else  who 
will  do  it,"  he  said. 

I  got  another  job  that  same  day.  It  was  on 
Madison  Avenue.  I  remember  the  place  was  so 
light  and  clean.  The  foreman,  a  middle-aged, 
kindly-faced  man,  treated  the  people  fairly.  For 
the  few  days  I  stayed  there,  I  never  heard  him 
shout  at  a  girl.  My  salary  was  to  be  thirteen  dol- 
lars to  start  with.  On  Saturday,  after  work,  I  went 


108  One  of  Them 

to  the  foreman,  asking  him  if  I  could  possibly  get 
my  pay,  for  I  was  in  need  and  could  not  wait  until 
Tuesday  —  the  regular  pay-day.  The  foreman 
told  me  it  was  against  the  rule  of  the  house  to  pay 
money  before  Tuesday,  but  he  would  make  an 
exception  with  me.  In  a  few  minutes  he  took  me 
into  the  office  and  told  me  to  wait  until  my  pay  was 
made  out.  As  I  waited,  the  boss  came  in  —  a  tall, 
handsome  young  man  with  a  wealth  of  dark  bushy 
hair  and  big  round  blue  eyes. 

"What  is  it  you  are  waiting  for,  young  lady?" 
he  asked. 

I  excused  myself  for  asking  for  my  pay  on  Sat- 
urday, and  explained  to  him  why  I  needed  the 
money. 

f  When  the  bookkeeper  had  my  pay  made  out  she 
left.  I  still  waited  for  the  money.  The  boss  sat 
at  his  desk  writing.  I  had  no  courage  to  disturb 
him,  so  I  sat  and  waited.  At  last  he  stood  up, 
straightened  himself,  and  smiled  at  me. 

"So  you  are  in  hardship  —  too  bad,  too  bad." 
Then  he  took  my  pay,  looked  at  it,  fixed  his  eyes 
on  me,  and  asked:  "Is  that  all  you  get?" 

"No,  I  get  thirteen,  but  this  is  only  for  two  days 
and  a  half,"  I  said,  already  regretting  to  have 
aroused  his  pity. 

"But,  my  dear  girl,  that  would  not  be  enough 
for  you.   Don't  you  need  more  than  that?" 
»    A  thrill  ran  through  my  body  when  I  noticed 


Unwelcome  Attentions  109 

how  he  was  measuring  me  with  his  eyes  while  he 
spoke.  I  felt  what  that  glance  in  his  eyes  meant. 
It  was  quiet  in  the  shop,  everybody  had  left,  even 
the  foreman.  There  in  the  office  I  sat  on  a  chair, 
the  boss  stood  near  me  with  my  pay  in  his  hand, 
speaking  to  me  in  a  velvety,  soft  voice.  Alas! 
nobody  around.   I  sat  trembling  with  fear. 

He  spoke.  I  did  not  hear  what  he  said.  In- 
stinctively, I  stood  up  and  stretched  out  my  hand 
for  my  pay.  "Wait  a  moment;  I  will  give  you  some 
more."  But  no  more  had  I  time  to  refuse  when  he 
grasped  me  in  his  arms. 

I  screamed,  and  with  superhuman  strength 
threw  him  from  me  and  ran  into  the  hall.  Luckily, 
the  elevator  stopped  at  the  same  moment  as  I 
rushed  out  of  the  office.   I  ran  into  it. 

Breathless  and  pale,  I  reached  home  and  madly 
ran  up  the  stairs.  The  people  in  .the  house  were 
alarmed  seeing  my  paleness,  but  I  gave  no  expla- 
nation. In  my  room  I  closed  my  door,  hid  my  face 
in  the  pillow,  and  cried,  cried  all  afternoon.  How 
I  hated  men,  all  of  them  without  exception!  I 
stood  up  before  the  mirror  and  studied  my  face, 
trying  to  find  out  if  there  was  anything  in  it  that 
awakened  men's  impudent  feelings  toward  me.  I 
hated  my  youth,  it  had  caused  me  so  many  pain- 
ful humiliations.  When  I  went  into  the  dining- 
room,  I  thought  all  the  men  there  followed  me  with 
the  same  rude  looks  as  that  vicious  boss.  If  I  could 


110  One  of  Them 

only  discredit  that  man  so  that  he  would  never 
dare  to  insult  a  working-girl  again!  If  only  I  could 
complain  of  him  in  court!  But  I  had  no  witnesses 
to  testify  the  truth;  with  my  broken  English  I 
could  give  very  little  explanation.  Besides  that, 
if  I  were  working  in  a  shop  and  were  called  to  court, 
the  firm  might  suspect  some  evil  in  me  and  send 
me  away.  So  I  left  him  alone  and  never  went  to 
collect  my  money,  although  I  was  in  a  frightful 
need. 

Before  bedtime  I  cried  again. 

"What  is  the  matter  now?"  Fannie  asked. 

She  knew  nothing.  I  was  ashamed  to  tell  her 
the  truth. 

"I  lost  my  pay  on  the  way  home,"  said  I. 

"Oh,  you  stupid  thing!  You  should  be  more 
careful  with  your  money." 

"Yes,  I  was  careful,  very  careful;  that  is  why 
I  lost  it." 

I  was  so  sorry  for  those  few  dollars  which  could 
do  me  so  much  good  those  dark  days. 

I  could  not  sleep.  The  day's  events  vividly  ap- 
peared before  me,  and  in  the  silence  of  the  night 
my  shattered  nerves  started  their  nightmare  trick 
—  shrinking,  wrangling,  jumping,  heaving,  split- 
ting my  head.  Hideous  long  shadows  gathered 
about,  dancing  wildly,  screaming  with  laughter 
through  their  gnashing  teeth.  Hands  —  hundreds 
of  hands  with  sharpened  nails  —  stretched  out  to 


So  Many  Shops  111 

me.    They  danced,  they  laughed,  they  screamed, 
they  conquered. 

Sunday,  going  out  to  Bath  Beach  with  a  friend, 
I  was  introduced  to  an  aunt  of  his.  When  she 
learned  I  was  out  of  work,  she  gave  me  a  card  to 
her  brother,  who  was  a  jobber  on  waists,  and  whose 
son  kept  a  small  waist-shop  in  the  same  place. 
She  assured  me  that  through  her  recommendation 
I  should  get  a  job. 

On  Monday  morning  I  was  up  early.  The 
thought  of  a  new  job  made  me  so  uneasy  that 
I  could  hardly  sleep.  My  bitter  experience  with 
my  last  shop  pictured  me  all  the  bosses  as  vulgar 
and  rude  as  the  one  from  whom  I  ran  away  on 
Saturday.  A  religious  mood  possessed  me  that 
morning.  In  my  despairing  helplessness  I  blindly 
sought  for  a  higher  power  whom  I  might  invoke 
for  protection.  If  there  was  an  Almighty  he  should 
at  last  turn  to  us,  the  insulted  ones,  the  humiliated, 
the  searchers  for  everyday  bread.  But  there  was 
no  such  God,  or  else  he  would  not  tolerate  such 
misery!  So  many  shops  I  had  tried  in  a  period  of 
eleven  weeks,  and  what  did  I  find?  Shops  where 
people  were  treated  as  slaves  —  shops  where  work-  £/' 
ers  looked  like  shadows,  with  symptoms  of  tuber- 
culosis —  shops  where  young  girls  were  subject 
to  the  vulgar  and  rude  desires  of  some  scoundrel 
bosses.   Oh,  how  dreadful,  how  dreadful! 


112  One  of  Them 

But  I  had  to  forget  it  all.  My  brother  was 
already  on  his  way  to  New  York.  I  had  to  provide 
some  money  for  him,  and  there  I  stood  penniless. 
I  had  to  find  a  job  and  try  to  keep  it  if  I  did  not 
want  to  starve  together  with  him.  For  myself 
I  cared  not  much,  but  my  younger  brother  —  for 
him  I  was  responsible. 

"After  all,  I'm  not  the  only  one,"  I  thought. 
"I'm  one  of  them!  One  of  so  many  thousands  of 
young  girls,  who  struggle  so  hard  for  their  every- 
day bread,  whose  youth  and  beauty  fade  in  those 
hateful  shops  without  a  ray  of  happiness." 

I  made  up  my  mind  to  devote  myself  to  the 
work,  not  to  care  for  the  surroundings,  not  to  think 
of  the  rights  or  wrongs. 

I  went  with  the  card  that  the  woman  at  Bath 
Beach  had  given  me  to  her  brother,  and  got  the 
job. 

The  first  few  days  I  was  so  absorbed  in  my  work 
that  I  did  not  even  notice  the  people  with  whom  I 
worked.  I  spoke  to  no  one  except  the  girl  who  sat 
next  to  me,  when  I  needed  to  ask  anything  about 
the  work.  I  noticed  she  was  a  good  worker.  She 
told  me  that  she  had  been  employed  by  this  firm 
for  the  last  three  years,  and  was  a  sort  of  forelady 
over  the  few  girls  who  were  not  competent  in  the 
work.  She  also  had  made  all  the  samples  before 
I  came.  All  she  was  getting  was  ten  dollars  a  week. 
"And  I  hope  to  get  a  dollar  raise,"  she  said  with 


A  Sweat-shop  113 

pride.  She  also  told  me  that  she  had  been  a  dress- 
maker in  Russia. 

"Goodness!"  I  thought,  —  "she  —  a  dressmaker 
from  Russia  —  three  years'  experience  in  the  same 
place  —  making  all  the  samples,  a  bit  of  a  fore- 
lady,  and  gets  ten  dollars  a  week!  What  could  I, 
not  being  a  dressmaker  from  Russia,  not  having 
three  years  of  experience,  nor  titled  as  forelady, 
expect  to  get  here?" 

Though  I  knew  that  my  work  was  good,  —  the 
foreman  liked  it,  — still  I  feared  that  he  might  not 
pay  me  more  than  nine  or  ten  dollars.  But  I  sat 
still;  I  did  not  ask  for  a  price  until  the  week  was 
over. 

Although  absorbed  in  the  work,  I  nevertheless 
raised  my  head  from  time  to  time  to  observe  the 
surroundings.  The  place  was  on  the  first  floor. 
Its  length  extended  from  Seventeenth  to  Eight- 
eenth Street.  In  the  Seventeenth  Street  front  was 
the  shipping  department;  the  Eighteenth  Street 
end  was  taken  up  by  the  office  and  show-room. 
The  very  dark  middle  space  gave  shelter  to  the 
small  factory,  its  windows  facing  narrow  court- 
yards. Sunshine  could  never  reach  them,  the 
buildings  being  so  high  and  close  to  each  other. 
We  had  to  work  by  gas-lights  from  morning  till 
evening.  The  windows  and  the  sink  were  covered 
with  dirt  an  inch  high;  they  were  seldom  cleaned. 
The  table  with  the  machines  stood  close  to  the 


114  One  of  Them 

wall,  and  we  had  plenty  of  dust  to  inhale  from  the 
windows  and  the  yard;  also  the  smell  of  the  rot- 
ten sausages  of  the  "Busy  Bee"  restaurant  which 
was  in  the  next  basement. 

In  the  middle  of  the  week  two  girls  left.  They 
were  the  best  operators.  Sadie,  the  girl  next  to  me, 
told  me  that  they  only  stayed  there  for  the  dull 
season.  Now,  when  it  became  busy,  they  went 
back  to  their  old  places. 

"For, you  see,  in  a  union  shop  they  make  more 
money  in  the  busy  season,"  she  said. 

(So  this  was  no  union  shop!   My  chance!) 

"Does  it  pay  for  you  to  stay  here?"  I  asked. 
"Don't  you  think  you  could  get  a  job  for  fifteen 
dollars  a  week,  such  an  experienced  worker  as  you 
are?" 

"Oh,  I  know  I  could,"  she  replied,  "but  I  am 
not  going  to  leave  this  place.  The  boss  has  prom- 
ised to  make  me  his  forelady."  (To  become  a  fore- 
lady  was  her  highest  ambition.)  "He  also  wanted 
me  to  get  him  green  girls  for  help.  You  know  he 
does  not  like  the  Americanized  girls  —  they  fuss 
too  much,  and  very  often  make  trouble  in  the  shop, 
while  green  girls  are  quiet  and  don't  kick  about  the 
pay." 

"And  do  you  get  green  help  for  your  boss?" 

"Surely,"  she  answered.  "Almost  all  the  girls, 
except  the  few  Italians,  I  brought  here,  as  soon  as 
they  came  over  from  Russia.    Don't  you  think  the 


The  New  Girls'  Chance  115 

boss  is  a  fine  man?  He  told  me  he  likes  to  give  a 
chance  to  the  poor  green  girls,  who  don't  know 
where  to  look  for  work." 

"And  how  much  does  he  pay  them?" 

"Well,  the  first  three  weeks  they  work  for  noth- 
ing. Then  he  begins  to  pay  three  dollars  a  week, 
raising  a  dollar  or  half  a  dollar  every  season.  Now, 
excuse  me,  I  have  talked  too  much.  I've  got  to 
work,"  she  said,  bending  down  her  head  to  the 
machine. 

She  began  to  rush  in  order  to  make  up  for  the  loss 
of  the  few  minutes'  talk  she  had  with  me. 

My  mind  was  full  of  thoughts.  I  forgot  that 
I  determined  to  think  only  of  the  work.  I  could 
not  keep  the  promise  to  my  own  self.  I  looked  at 
the  girls  around  the  table,  and  I  thought  of  them ! 
They  were  all  so  youthful,  —  most  of  them  were 
seventeen,  eighteen  years  old,  —  as  yet  not  hurt  by 
hard  work,  and  what  did  they  get?  Three,  four, 
or  five  dollars  a  week;  perhaps  some  of  them  a  little 
more  than  that.  And  how  they  were  rushed,  and 
scolded  by  the  foreman,  who  sometimes  used  such 
language  that  would  make  a  Russian  Cossack 
blush!  And  how  did  they  live?  Did  they  also,  like 
me,  walk  around  in  the  street  sometimes  a  whole 
day,  without  a  single  meal  in  their  mouth?  Did 
they  also,  in  the  hottest  summer  days,  passing  by 
a  restaurant,  stop  to  inhale  the  smell  of  delicious 
roasts  which  awakened  such  a  painful  hunger  in 


116  One  of  Them 

the  stomach?  With  pain  in  my  heart  I  felt  that 
their  youth  will  with  no  mercy  be  crushed  prema- 
turely under  such  conditions,  and  I  had  a  desire  to 
talk  and  warn  them. 

When  the  week  was  over,  I  asked  the  foreman 
for  a  price.  He  nearly  fainted  when  I  told  him  I 
wanted  fourteen  dollars  a  week.  It  was  fortunate 
for  me  that  the  two  girls  had  left  in  the  middle  of 
the  week,  for  the  foreman,  being  very  busy  and 
having  few  skilled  workers,  was  afraid  to  lose  me, 
too.  So  after  two  hours'  bargaining,  I  remained 
there  for  thirteen  dollars  a  week,  but  was  strongly 
forbidden  to  tell  anybody  in  the  shop  of  the 
"extravagant  amount"  I  was  getting.  I  was  the 
highest-paid  worker  in  that  shop. 


CHAPTER  Vm 

NOW  that  I  was  getting  such  an  "enormous 
amount  of  money,"  I  could  afford  to  buy 
lunches.  But  I  was  saving  for  my  brother,  and 
could  only  spare  a  few  cents  each  day.  A  peddler 
used  to  come  every  noontime  and  sell  food  to  the 
girls.  In  his  small  basket  he  had  bread,  sardines, 
sausages,  and  salmon.  I  bought  a  box  of  sardines 
for  six  cents  and  some  bread.  The  very  same  day 
I  was  seized  with  terrible  cramps  which  put  me  to 
bed.  I  suppose  my  stomach  was  a  little  weakened 
from  the  weeks  of  irregularity  in  my  meals,  and 
could  not  digest  the  cheap  old  sardines.  The  doctor 
took  my  case  very  seriously.  He  told  me  to  follow 
the  prescribed  diet :  fresh  chicken  soup,  fresh  eggs, 
and  cooked  fruit,  nothing  else;  then  be  out  in  the 
fresh  air  in  the  morning  as  long  as  I  could. 

I  smiled.  How  naive  those  doctors  were !  Where 
could  I  get  fresh  chicken  soup  every  day?  Surely 
not  in  the  cooperative  house,  where  we  paid  two 
and  a  half  dollars  a  week  for  board!  And  fresh 
air?  Oh,  I  had  had  enough  of  it  during  the  long 
dull  season. 

In  three  days  I  grew  so  pale,  so  thin,  that  when 
my  friend  Clara  saw  me,  I  frightened  her. 

"What  happened?"  she  asked  in  anxiety. 


118  One  of  Them 

I  told  her  of  my  stomach  trouble. 

"Why  did  you  not  come  up  here  and  stay  a  few 
days  with  mother  until  you  felt  better?  How  could 
you  go  to  work,  feeling  so  miserable?" 

I  explained  to  her  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  stop 
for  a  day  even,  because  my  brother  was  coming  the 
end  of  the  week  and  I  needed  the  money;  then  I 
feared  to  lose  my  position,  for  it  was  a  very  busy 
time,  and  some  other  help  would  be  taken  in  my 
place.   That  evening  she  did  not  let  me  go  home. 

"You  shall  not  stay  uptown  any  more!"  she 
said.  "Now  you'll  get  a  room  where  it  will  be  near 
the  shop,  and  the  car-fare  you'll  spare  for  better 
food." 

At  the  end  of  the  week  my  brother  came.  Poor 
brother,  he  was  so  disappointed  when  he  saw  my 
pale,  thin  face.  He  expected  to  find  me  strong, 
healthy,  and  happy.   Happy  I  tried  to  be. 

"Is  it  the  work  that  affected  you  so  badly, 
sister?  "  he  asked  the  first  evening. 

"Oh,  no,"  I  answered;  "it  is  only  a  cold  that  I 
got.   It'll  be  over  in  a  few  days." 

He  sighed,  bowing  his  head,  and  continued: 
"You  know  that  mother  is  still  crying,  when  she 
thinks  how  hard  you  have  to  work,  and  she  always 
fears  that  you  have  nobody  to  look  after  you.  She 
still  thinks  that  you  are  not  able  to  do  your  own 
washing,  nor  mending,  nor  ironing." 

"Don't  worry,"  said  I.    "At  home  when  I  had 


A  Brother  Comes  119 

mother  and  sister  to  take  care  of  me,  I  knew  noth- 
ing, —  but  now,  I  have  learned  everything,  and 
get  along  fine!"  ("Get  along  fine!"  .  .  .  Well,  I 
had  to  lie  for  his  sake.) 

!  For  the  next  few  days  I  was  very  busy  searching 
a  place  for  my  brother.  I  finally  got  him  a  position 
in  Brownsville  with  a  plumber.  As  it  would  be  too 
far  for  him  to  travel  from  New  York,  I  also  found 
him  a  room  and  board  near  his  shop.  Myself,  I 
moved  downtown,  not  far  from  the  shop.  Though 
I  bought  better  food,  I  still  felt  very  weak.  It 
seemed  that  the  two  dull  seasons  during  the  past 
year  and  a  half  had  undermined  my  health.  I  had 
never  felt  sick  until  this  recent  breakdown. 

The  worries  about  work  and  my  brother  had 
occupied  so  much  of  my  thoughts  for  the  past  few 
weeks  that  I  had  even  forgotten  the  existence  and 
importance  of  the  union.  When  I  became  stronger, 
I  again  started  to  attend  various  meetings  and  lec- 
tures. 

The  shop  was  a  model  of  a  "sweat-shop"  in  the 
full  sense  of  the  word, — narrow  and  dark  and 
dirty.  When  it  happened  to  rain,  our  clothes  felt 
damp  all  day  long.  The  owner  cared  very  little  for 
the  shop.  He  was  always  busy  with  his  jobbing.  (A 
jobber  is  one  who  gets  ready-made  merchandise  to 
sell.) 

Only  two  or  three  experienced  operators  were 
kept;  the  rest  were  mostly  green  girls,  and  were 


4J 


120  One  of  Them 

always  called  "learners."  Even  those  who  stayed 
there  for  more  than  a  year  were  still  called  learners. 
We  worked  in  sets.  Each  skilled  operator  had  two 
or  three  learners  to  work  with.  The  latter  would 
work,  each  one  on  a  certain  part  of  the  garment, 
and  the  skilled  operator  would  complete  it. 

Those  poor  learners  were  never  given  a  chance 
to  learn  to  make  a  complete  garment,  because  the 
work  went  much  quicker  when  each  girl  worked 
on  one  part  continuously.  Also,  because  a  skilled 
girl  would  not  stay  for  the  small  salaries  they  paid. 
But  a  learner,  lacking  skill,  would  be  afraid  to  look 
for  other  jobs,  and  she  was  thus  dependent  on  the 
man  for  whom  she  worked,  being  obliged  to  accept 
any  salary  paid  to  her. 

The  foreman  was  unusually  respectful  to  me 
because  I  was  the  highest-paid  worker  in  the  shop. 
But  the  greatest  respect  he  began  to  pay  me  when 
he  happened  to  learn  through  the  papers  that  I  was 
to  play  on  the  stage.  (I  still  belonged  to  the  Dra- 
matic Club  at  that  time  and  we  gave  performances 
every  once  in  a  while.) 

"So,  so,  you  are  to  become  an  actress  —  it's 
fine,  very  fine,"  he  would  say  proudly. 

He  informed  the  girls  that  I  was  an  actress, 
and  they  also  began  to  pay  me  more  respect.  That 
helped  me  in  gaining  their  confidence.  I  often  tried 
to  convince  them  how  much  better  it  would  be 
for  them  if  they  would  all  get  together  and  join 


Helping  New  Girls  121 

the  union.  They  were  glad  to  do  it,  but  they  were 
afraid  of  the  boss.  To  sit  quietly  and  see  the  way 
the  people  were  treated  was  impossible.  I  had  two 
girls,  helpers,  under  my  direction.  I  was  forbidden 
to  bother  much  with  them,  but  I  could  not  help 
instructing  them  in  the  work.  My  teacher's  tem- 
perament was  aroused  unconsciously.  I  would 
give  them  every  day  a  new  part  of  the  garment  to 
make  up  so  that  they  could  learn  how  to  make  a 
complete  waist.  When  the  foreman  noticed  it,  he 
scolded  me  for  the  first  time. 

"I  don't  pay  you  for  teaching  the  girls  how  to 
work.  I  don't  want  you  to  bother  away  your  time. 
I  want  to  have  my  work  done!"  he  cried  in  anger. 

"But  how  can  I  work  with  them  when  they 
don't  know  how?"  I  would  argue. 

He  would  not  listen.  My  heart  pained  me  for  the 
girls.  One  of  them  was  paid  three  and  a  half,  the 
other  five,  dollars  a  week.  Both  together  did  not 
get  as  much  as  I.  When  I  worked  alone  I  could  only 
make  seven  or  eight  waists  a  day;  together  with 
them,  I  used  to  complete  a  bundle  of  sixteen,  some- 
times eighteen,  waists  a  day.  I  told  the  girls  how 
much  I  was  getting.  They  did  not  believe  me. 
They  could  not  think  of  such  big  pay. 

"Why  should  not  you  tell  the  boss  that  we  are 
worth  more?"  they  would  beg  me. 

I  did  speak  to  the  foreman  about  it.  I  explained 
to  him  how  much  work  was  given  out  and  how 


122  One  of  Them 

much  they  deserved  according  to  the  salary  I  was 
getting.   He  opened  his  eyes  wide  at  me. 

"Why,  who  allowed  you  to  tell  the  girls  how 
much  you  are  getting?  And  what  is  your  business  to 
worry  about  the  others?  They  ought  to  be  glad  we 
took  them  in  here.  Where  else  could  they  get  a  po- 
sition when  they  don't  know  how  to  join  a  seam?  " 

He  was  enraged.  I  understood  it  was  useless  to 
argue,  and  went  back  to  the  machine. 

There  was  another  girl  in  our  shop,  an  experi- 
enced operator,  who  came  for  the  sake  of  her  sis- 
ter, just  recently  arrived  from  Russia.  That  girl, 
Mollie,  got  twelve  dollars  a  week  and  her  green 
sister,  five.  After  two  weeks  Mollie's  sister,  becom- 
ing accustomed  to  the  system,  began  to  give  out  as 
much  work  as  Mollie  herself,  but  she  still  got  the 
same  pay,  for  she  was  called  a  learner,  and  a  learner 
was  only  raised  each  season.  Mollie  spoke  to  the 
foreman  about  her  sister  getting  a  raise,  but  she 
was  only  laughed  at.  Both  of  us  decided  to  report 
to  the  union  office  and  ask  their  help.  I  had  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  six  girls  who  were  ready  to  join 
the  union  and  we  hoped  to  get  the  rest  later  on. 

On  a  Friday  evening,  just  a  week  before  Labor 
Day,  we  went  down  to  the  union  office.  There  by 
the  complaint  window  of  the  independent  depart- 
ment I  gave  full  information  about  our  shop  and 
asked,  if  possible,  to  have  a  committee  sent  to 
take  us  down  on  strike  so  that  we  could  get  the 


Asking  Aid  of  the  Union  123 

people  to  join  the  union  and  then  put  our  demands 
before  the  boss.  The  man  by  the  window  promised 
to  attend  to  it.  Every  day  the  next  week  I  waited 
for  a  committee,  but  it  did  not  come.  On  Wednes- 
day evening  I  went  to  the  union  again.  The  man 
by  the  window  told  me  they  were  too  busy,  that  we 
must  be  patient  and  wait. 

The  next  morning,  when  I  sat  by  my  machine, 
two  strange  men,  together  with  the  owner,  entered 
the  shop.  They  looked  all  around,  tried  the  lights, 
and  made  some  remarks  about  the  windows  and 
the  sink.  I  surely  thought  they  were  people  from 
the  union,  and  told  the  girls  so.  But  they  were  not, 
for  in  a  few  minutes  we  were  told  to  stand  up  and 
march  out  when  a  whistle  should  blow.  Later  I 
learned  that  they  were  sent  from  the  Board  of 
Sanitary  Control  to  give  us  fire  drills. 

I  was  puzzled.  How  did  the  Board  of  Sanitary 
Control  come  to  send  a  committee  to  a  non-union 
shop?  I  knew  that  the  board  was  created  by  the 
union  and  the  Manufacturers'  Association,  and 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  non-union  shops.  There 
must  be  a  reason  for  it. 

In  the  evening  I  had  a  talk  with  the  girls.  None 
of  them  knew  anything  about  it.  They  did  not  even 
know  from  where  and  for  what  those  men  came. 
They  were  all  interested,  —  even  Sadie,  the  future 
forelady,  stopped  to  listen  to  us.  I  made  all  kinds 
of  suppositions. 


124  One  of  Them 

"Perhaps,"  said  I,  "the  union  sent  up  those  men 
to  find  out  how  the  shop  looks  before  they  take  us 
down  on  strike." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  strike?"  asked  Sadie  in 
surprise.  (She  knew  nothing  of  our  plans.) 

I  was  afraid  to  tell  her  anything,  for  she  would 
surely  report  to  the  foreman,  and  I  would  be  fired. 
At  that  time  I  had  worked  only  six  full  weeks  and 
could  not  afford  to  be  fired.  I  still  had  to  help  my 
brother,  who  did  not  get  more  than  five  dollars  a 
week.  On  our  way  home  Mollie  and  I  decided  to 
wait  till  after  Labor  Day.  Then  if  the  union  had 
not  sent  anybody,  we  would  go  up  there  again. 

Sunday  morning  when  we  came  to  work  (we 
observed  Saturdays),  the  foreman  had  news  for  us. 
The  boss  was  going  to  change  the  week-work  sys- 
tem for  piece-work  right  after  Labor  Day.  All  the 
girls,  with  the  exception  of  a  few,  were  shocked  with 
the  news.  As  the  foreman  would  always  tell  them 
that  they  did  not  deserve  the  money  they  were  get- 
ting, they  feared  that  on  piece-work  they  would 
make  still  less. 

After  work  I  tried  to  comfort  the  girls.  I  told 
them  that  now  was  the  best  time  to  make  a  union 
shop.  That  we  would  get  a  price  committee  to 
settle  prices,  and  they  would  make  twice  as  much 
as  they  had  made  before. 

On  my  way  home  I  thought  of  the  change  the  boss 
was  going  to  make.   A  sudden  thought  seized  me< 


A  Change  in  System  125 

I  recalled  I  had  read  in  Saturday's  paper  that  the 
Manufacturers'  Association  sent  out  letters  to  all  its 
members  who  practiced  the  week-work  system,  and 
informed  them  that  by  the  request  of  the  union  they 
would  have  to  change  their  system  to  piece-work. 

"My  boss  must  belong  to  the  bosses'  associa- 
tion, then,"  I  said  to  myself, u  or  he  would  not  have 
changed  his  system  so  suddenly."  And  how  could 
he  have  those  men  from  the  Board  of  Sanitary  Con- 
trol unless  he  was  a  member  of  the  association?  The 
more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more  I  concluded  that  it 
must  be  so. 

Tuesday  evening  Mollie  and  I  went  over  to  the 
union,  and  I  found  that  my  boss  really  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  association. 

So  when  I  went  in  the  next  morning  to  work,  I 
walked  over  to  the  foreman  and  told  him  all  I  knew 
about  the  boss,  the  change  of  system,  and  the 
shop,  and  that  now,  if  he  wanted  us  to  do  piece- 
work he  must  send  for  a  man  from  the  union  to  settle 
prices  for  us;  otherwise  we  would  not  work.  The 
foreman  stood  looking  at  me  in  embarrassment. 
To  him  everything  came  unexpectedly.  He  knew 
nothing  of  our  preparations,  and  my  explanation 
took  him  unawares. 

"Who  told  you  to  go  to  the  union,  you  foolish 
kid?  The  boss  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  union  — 
with  all  those  fakers!  It  is  true  that  the  boss  be- 
longs to  the  association,  but  what  do  you  need  the 


126  One  of  Them 

union  for?  The  poor  girls  don't  have  enough  to 
eat,  —  how  could  they  afford  to  pay  dues  and  fill 
the  union  leaders'  pockets?" 

I  was  tired  of  that  song.  I  had  heard  it  so  many 
times  from  different  bosses  and  foremen. 

"Please,"  I  said,  "don't  you  blame  the  leaders. 
I  never  saw  them  and  they  have  nothing  to  do  with 
our  demands.  We  ourselves  want  to  have  a  union 
shop.  Your  boss  cares  to  belong  to  a  bosses'  asso- 
ciation; we  care  to  belong  to  a  workers'  organiza- 
tion! Besides,  if  you  are  so  sorry  for  the  girls 
why  don't  you  pay  them  according  to  their  worth? 
You  drive  them  like  slaves,  and  what  are  you  giving 
them  in  return?  Three  dollars  a  week,  in  addition 
to  scoldings !  You  make  them  believe  that  they  are 
not  worth  even  that  much!" 

I  was  enraged,  and  gave  vent  to  all  my  feelings. 
If  the  foreman  had  not  interrupted  me,  God  knows 
how  much  longer  I  would  have  spoken. 

"Look  here!"  he  said,  "I  thought  you  were  a 
nice,  respectable  girl.  I  did  not  think  you  could 
be  so  fresh.  We  don't  want  you  to  make  trouble  in 
this  shop.  If  you  don't  like  it,  you  can  go.  You 
are  only  a  new  hand  here.  Those  girls  are  working 
here  more  than  a  year,  some  more  than  two  years, 
and  they  never  spoke  to  me  like  that.  I  was  to 
them  like  a  father  —  and  they  '11  admit  it,  too. 
I  did  not  think  you  'd  have  the  nerve  to  agitate 
the  people  against  me  and  the  boss!" 


Trouble  in  the  Shop  127 

All  the  girls  were  sitting  by  their  machines  shiv- 
ering with  fear.  They  were  afraid  the  boss  would 
fire  them  wholesale.  For  the  first  time  I  saw  them 
cowards  as  they  were.  When  the  foreman  turned 
to  them,  asking  if  they  had  anything  to  say,  they 
all  bowed  their  heads,  no. 

"See!"  he  said  to  me;  "nobody  cares  for  a  union 
but  you.  Take  my  advice  and  go  to  the  machine 
and  mind  your  own  business!  We'll  fix  up  the 
price  without  a  man  from  the  union." 

All  that  time  the  boss  stood  at  the  door  of  his 
office  and  listened  to  everything.  It  seemed  that 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  all  to  the  foreman, 
for  he  said  not  a  word,  but  an  hour  later  he  came 
out  and,  passing  between  the  tables,  addressed  the 
foreman. 

"What  was  the  noise  you  made  this  morning? 
You  know  that  I  don't  like  trouble  in  my  shop. 
If  there  is  any  girl  in  here  who  is  displeased,  let 
her  go.  Nobody  keeps  her  here.  I  want  no  market 
in  here." 

(He  spoke  as  if  he  did  not  know  who  that  girl 
was,  though  he  saw  me  speaking  to  the  foreman.) 

The  foreman  pointed  me  out  to  him. 

"There  she  is.  She  wants  to  call  the  people  out 
on  strike.  She  is  the  one  who  keeps  them  back  from 
work." 

I  stood  up. 

"I  don't  keep  them  back  from  work!"  I  cried 


128  One  of  Them 

out;  "but  we  have  a  right  to  know  what  we  are 
working  for.  When  we  were  week-workers,  we 
knew  how  much  we  were  getting;  now  we  are  piece- 
workers, and  we  want  to  know  how  much  we  can 
earn.  It  is  no  more  than  right  we  should  know." 
Then  I  added,  "Don't  you  know  that  in  each  pro- 
tocol shop  there  should  be  a  chairman  and  a  price 
committee  selected  from  the  workers  to  settle  prices 
with  the  boss?" 

He  grew  mad. 

"Who  are  you  to  make  rules  in  here,  you  little 
kid?  You  are  only  a  child.  What  do  you  know 
about  it?  Do  you  think  you  are  in  Russia  fighting 
the  Cossacks?  Go  to  Russia  and  fight  the  Cossacks ! 
I  will  not  allow  you  to  make  me  revolutions  in  the 
shop  and  spoil  the  people!" 

I  went  to  my  machine,  not  saying  a  word.  Every 
minute  I  expected  to  be  discharged. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THAT  day  was  the  most  miserable  one  I  ever 
spent  in  the  shop.  The  foreman  quibbled  at 
everything,  scolded  me,  and  cursed  the  union  lead- 
ers —  as  if  it  were  their  fault!  I  could  not  work.  I 
felt  so  insulted,  tears  were  running  from  my  eyes, 
the  work  slipped  out  of  my  hands.  In  any  other 
circumstances  I  would  have  left  that  shop,  even  if 
I  had  to  starve,  but  not  at  present. 

"Should  I  give  in?"  I  thought.  "After  all,  the 
boss  was  right;  if  the  girls  don't  care,  why  should  I? 
But  they  do  care;  they  are  only  afraid;  they  have 
no  courage  to  start;  their  courage  is  killed  by  the 
miserable  life  they  live.  Why  should  I  not  try  to 
awaken  their  dignity,  their  self -consciousness?" 

In  that  choking  atmosphere,  working  by  gas 
which  inflamed  the  eyes  so  badly,  with  not  a  single 
ray  of  sunshine  all  day,  there  we  sat  working  for 
others.  Oh,  how  I  wished  to  stand  up  and  cry  out 
to  the  world  of  all  the  misery  we  are  submitted  to 
in  the  shops;  to  show  them  the  causes  that  so 
often  drive  girls  to  hell-life;  to  tell  them  that  the 
money  the  bosses  acquire  through  our  labor  is 
criminal  money!  It  comes  from  the  starvation  of  the 
people;  it  is  the  happiness,  the  youth,  the  beauty, 


130  One  of  Them 

the  blood  of  many,  many  innocent,  unprotected 
working-people ! 

Impatiently  I  awaited  the  lunch-hour,  when  I 
ran  over  to  the  union  office.  With  tears  in  my  eyes 
I  told  them  what  had  happened.  The  complaint 
clerk  made  out  a  complaint  to  the  association 
against  my  boss.  He  advised  me  to  call  the  girls  to 
a  meeting.  With  meeting  cards  in  my  hand,  with- 
out any  lunch,  I  returned  to  the  shop.  On  the 
cutting-table  sat  the  foreman,  all  the  girls  around 
him,  and  he  amused  them  with  his  tales. 

"  Come  on  here,"  he  called.  "You  may  also  listen 
to  it.  .  .  .  When  I  was  in  the  contracting  business 
for  the  cloak  manufacturers,  I  had  to  deal  with  the 
union.  Once,  when  a  business  agent  came  around 
to  find  out  if  everything  was  in  order,  I  invited  him 
out  for  lunch  with  me.  There  in  a  saloon  I  treated 
him  with  a  few  beers  so  that  after  lunch  he  was  not 
able  to  walk  out.  When  he  stepped  out  of  the  door, 
he  fell  like  a  dead  one  on  the  sidewalk.  Then  I 
called  over  my  workers  to  show  them  who  their 
leader  was.  I  also  told  them  that  for  one  beer  he 
would  sell  the  union.  That's  what  your  union  is," 
he  concluded. 

But  I  stopped  him;  I  could  not  stand  it  any  more. 

"  A  thing  like  that  never  happened,  and  if  it  did, 
you  played  a  very  mean  trick  on  that  poor  man ! " 
I  cried  out.  "Girls,  don't  listen  to  him  —  he  wants 
to  poison  your  minds,  that  is  his  only  aim!" 


The  Foreman's  Plea  131 

I  tried  to  control  myself.  I  respected  his  age  — 
he  was  old  enough  to  be  my  father. 

It  is  hard  to  describe  how  I  spent  the  rest  of  that 
day.  He  called  me  "damn  liar."  He  wanted  to 
make  the  girls  believe  that  I  was  an  agent  from  the 
union,  that  I  was  paid  by  the  union  leaders  to  get 
money  from  the  girls  for  union  books. 

I  could  not  control  myself  any  longer.  Tears 
burst  out  of  my  eyes.  I  took  my  hat  and  coat  and 
wanted  to  run,  —  run  away  from  there,  from  all 
the  trouble,  I  was  so  excited,  —  but  Mollie  held  me 
back. 

"We  don't  believe  him;  we  know  his  aims  all 
right,"  she  said.  "Don't  go;  if  you  go,  this  place 
will  remain  as  it  was.  Now  you  have  started  it, 
bring  it  to  an  end.  The  girls  will  stay  with  you." 

I  did  not  go.  I  sat  by  the  machine,  but  could  not 
work.  My  mind  was  too  upset.  At  four  o'clock  I 
distributed  the  meeting  cards,  calling  everybody  to 
the  meeting.  I  warned  them  if  they  did  not  go, 
they  would  regret  it.  Half  an  hour  before  the  power 
stopped,  the  foreman  called  Mollie  and  me  over  to 
his  table.  He  was  all  changed.  His  manners,  his 
voice,  were  so  soft,  so  polite,  that  it  made  us  won- 
der.  In  a  begging  tone  he  began:  — 

"I  want  you  girls  to  understand  me.  The  boss 
does  not  care  to  keep  up  his  shop.  If  he  is  to  pay 
higher  wages  to  the  girls,  he  will  not  be  able  to  keep 
a  foreman  and  he  will  give  up  the  business  alto- 


132  One  of  Them 

gether.  He  can  make  a  nice  living  without  these 
few  machines.  I  will  be  the  one  to  suffer!  I'm  only 
a  poor  man,  have  to  support  my  family.  What  am 
I  to  do  if  he  does  give  up  the  business?" 

My  grudge  against  him  disappeared  instantly. 

Poor  man!  I  pitied  him.  After  all,  he  was  only  a 
tool  in  the  hands  of  the  boss.  He  also  worked  very 
hard.  The  boss's  son  would  walk  around  all  day 
long  from  one  table  to  the  other,  of  no  use  to  any- 
body. He  did  not  even  know  where  to  get  a  spool 
of  thread  when  a  girl  happened  to  ask  him  for  it. 
And  he  was  the  one  to  get  the  profits.  The  foreman, 
who  had  managed  the  shop  and  who  had  done  the 
cutting  also,  only  got  as  much  as  could  be  taken 
off  from  the  girls'  worth. 

But  I  could  not  help  him.  Were  he  a  fair  man, 
not  a  coward,  he  would  not  make  his  living  out  of 
the  girls'  money,  for,  as  he  himself  said,  the  boss 
kept  him  as  long  as  the  girls  got  small  wages.  I 
said  to  him :  — 

"If  the  boss  will  give  up  the  business  just  because 
he  has  to  pay  decent  wages,  let  him  do  it !  For  three 
dollars  a  week  the  girls  can  find  a  job  anywhere!" 

After  work  I  waited  for  the  girls  to  take  them  to 
the  meeting.  Sadie,  the  forelady,  fearing  to  spoil 
her  future  career  by  attending  the  meeting,  re- 
fused to  go.  Another  girl  followed  her.  The  three 
Italian  finishers  were  also  afraid  to  go,  so  that  we 
only  had  nine  girls  at  the  meeting. 


A  Price  Committee  Chosen        133 

I  succeeded  in  explaining  to  them  the  situation 
as  it  was.  I  assured  them  that  if  the  boss  should 
give  up  the  business,  it  would  not  be  for  the  reason 
that  we  want  too  much,  but  for  the  simple  reason 
that  his  son  is  not  able  to  manage  the  business,  and 
if  it  is  so,  let  him  do  it.  Such  brilliant  jobs  as  they 
had  they  could  always  get. 

They  elected  me  as  shop  delegate;  also  on  the 
price  committee,  together  with  Mollie. 

The  next  morning  when  we  came  in  to  work,  the 
boss  was  already  there.  He  changed  his  policy. 
Without  addressing  anybody,  he  began  to  talk. 

"Oh,  I  have  nothing  against  the  girls'  selecting  a 
chairlady.  Let  them  also  select  a  price  committee, 
but  they  could  do  all  that  without  a  union.  They 
need  not  belong  to  the  union  and  spend  their  money." 

I  went  over  to  him  and  introduced  myself  as 
the  shop  chairlady.  I  told  him  that  we  had  ap- 
pointed a  price  committee  and  were  ready  to  settle 
prices,  but  with  a  man  of  the  union,  because  we 
had  never  settled  prices  before  and  we  wanted  to 
have  an  expert. 

The  boss  realized  that  further  arguments  were 
useless  and  he  finally  agreed. 

Until  a  man  from  the  union  could  come  up,  we 
continued  with  the  work.  I  still  had  my  two  help- 
ers. Now  that  I  was  no  week-worker,  I  had  liberty 
to  instruct  the  girls  in  the  work.  After  a  day  or  two 
they  worked  alone  and  did  well. 


134  One  of  Them 

On  Sunday  I  asked  the  foreman  to  give  me  some 
work  that  I  could  work  on  without  interruption.  I 
wanted  to  time  myself,  to  make  a  sort  of  test,  and 
see  if  I  could  possibly  settle  the  prices  myself  with- 
out any  help  from  the  union.  I  wanted  to  do  justice 
to  both  sides.  The  girls  should  be  able  to  go  on 
with  the  work,  without  any  loss  of  time,  and  the 
boss  should  have  his  work  done  in  time. 

On  Monday,  when  I  had  the  work  finished,  I 
went  over  to  the  foreman  to  speak  about  the  price. 
Somehow  we  agreed  on  the  price  of  the  style  I 
tried  out.  All  were  satisfied.  The  day  passed  very 
happily. 

In  the  evening  the  foreman  told  me  to  remain 
to  settle  some  more  work.  I  did  so,  but  instead  of 
prices,  he  spoke  to  me  of  something  else. 

"  Listen,  miss !  I  know  you  are  a  sensible  girl,  and 
you  deserve  to  get  more  than  the  others.  You  need 
not  bother  with  the  union.  I  myself  will  give  you  a 
chance  to  work  yourself  up.  See,  as  you  are  on 
piece-work  now,  you  can  keep  your  two  girl  helpers 
as  before.  You  '11  pay  them  as  much  as  I  paid  them 
till  now.  .  .  .  Think  what  you  can  make  on  them; 
the  work  will  all  go  through  you,  and  they'll  work 
through  your  hand!  You  need  not  be  afraid  that 
they'll  refuse.  If  they  do,  I'll  get  other  girls  — 
there  are  always  plenty  of  them!" 

Should  any  one  throw  stones  at  me,  I  would  not 
feel  as  hurt  as  I  felt  while  he  spoke.   It  was  the 


The  Foreman  Explains  135 

worst  kind  of  an  insult  I  could  ever  feel.  He 
wanted  me  to  become  a  sub -contractor,  to  give  me 
a  chance  to  advance  myself!  In  what  a  way!  By 
cheating  the  girls!  In  the  same  way  as  I  had  been 
and  still  was  cheated! 

At  last  the  deputy  clerks  from  the  association 
and  the  union  came.  I  was  called  to  the  office.  In 
my  broken  English  I  tried  to  explain  to  them. 
After  me  the  foreman  spoke.  Hearing  him  talk  in 
the  office  in  a  soft,  gentle  voice,  it  could  hardly  be 
believed  that  he  could  use  such  violent  language 
as  he  used  in  the  shop  to  the  girls.  He  denied  all  I 
said.  He  told  them  that  as  long  as  he  had  been  fore- 
man in  the  shop,  the  girls  had  never  complained  of 
anything  —  that  peace  had  prevailed  until  I  came; 
that  I  also  was  satisfied  until  the  system  of  week^- 
work  was  changed;  since  then  I  had  begun  to  make 
trouble  in  the  shop  because  I  did  not  want  to  work 
piece-work. 

"It's  a  lie!"  I  interrupted  him,  maddened  by 
such  false  statements.  "I'm  glad  that  the  system 
is  changed  —  I  only  wanted  to  have  a  man  from 
the  union  to  settle  the  prices  for  us!" 

He  lied  through  and  through,  and  I  could  not 
help  saying  it  was  a  lie,  but  in  saying  that,  I  only 
succeeded  in  discrediting  myself,  for  the  clerk  of 
the  association  stopped  me. 

"Why,  that  girl  is  unbearable;  she  has  an  awful 
temper!"  he  said  to  the  clerk  of  the  union.  "After 


136  One  of  Them 

all,  he  is  the  boss  of  the  place,  and  she  should  have 
more  respect  forlhim!  She  is  too  fresh!" 

"Oh, if  you  only  knew  him!"  I  said,  and  burst 
into  tears,  for  it  hurt  me  that  he  was  trusted  more 
than  I. 

Both  clerks  failed  to  see  the  impossibility  of  se- 
lecting a  girl  in  our  shop.  All  the  girls,  without  any 
exception,  were  as  week-workers  very  much  under- 
paid. If  any  girl  was  to  make  a  test,  and  be  paid  by 
the  hour  according  to  her  former  salary,  we  would 
surely  not  be  able  to  gain  anything,  but  I  was  not 
given  any  chance  to  explain  it  to  them,  for  they 
were  in  a  hurry  and  left. 

When  I  stepped  back  into  the  shop,  the  girls 
were  waiting  impatiently  for  news,  but  before  I 
said  a  word,  the  foreman  anticipated  me. 

"Well,  girls,  even  the  clerk  said  that  she  was 
fresh,  that  she  had  a  bad  temper.  He  also  said  that 
I'm  the  boss  here,  and  she  has  nothing  to  say!" 

So  he  interpreted  the  clerk's  sentences,  and 
wanted  the  girls  to  believe  him. 

In  the  evening  on  our  way  home,  I  had  all  the 
girls  around  me.  Some  had  the  greatest  sympathy 
for  me,  but  Sadie  and  her  friend  saw  their  enemy  in 
me. 

"What  do  you  want  the  trouble  for?"  she  asked 
me.  She  did  not  have  sense  enough  to  see  things  as 
they  were,  f 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  next  morning  the  first  thing  I  did  was 
to  remind  the  foreman  that  we  were  to  select  a 
test  Pgirl.  I  hated  him  so  much  that  morning  that 
I  would  sooner  have  talked  to  the  Devil.  Can  any- 
one imagine  being  friendly  to  a  man  who  tramples 
on  your  dignity,  who  tries  to  drive  you  from  the 
shop?  But  I  tried  to  be  friendly  in  order  to  get  a 
test  girl  to  make  the  prices  so  the  girls  could  get 
their  pay. 

There  were  only  four  girls  who  were  competent 
enough  in  the  work  to  act  as  testers.  From  the  four 
he  selected  Sadie  and  wanted  nobody  else.  How 
could  I  agree  to  her  when  she  was  such  a  good 
worker,  yet  got  only  twenty  cents  an  hour?  My 
arguments  did  not  do  any  good.  He  again  called 
me  "trouble-maker"  and  "fresh  girl,"  and  when  I 
went  to  him  for  work,  kept  me  waiting  purposely 
to  make  me  lose  time. 

At  lunch-time  I  went  to  the  union  again.  There 
I  cried  for  a  long  time  until  I  was  able  to  talk.  The 
people  up  there  comforted  me.  To  them  it  was  not 
new.  Hundreds  of  girls  used  to  come  to  them  with 
the  same  grievances  as  I.  But  those  did  not  cry 
any  more.  They  were  accustomed  to  being  ill- 
treated  for  their  union  activity.  Time  and  expe- 


138  One  of  Them 

rience  made  them  take  things  easier;  while  I  was 
only  a  novice. 

The  assistant  chief  clerk  immediately  made  out 
a  complaint  against  my  boss  for  ill-treatment  of  the 
chairlady  and  promised  to  have  the  clerks  sent  up 
right  after  lunch;  but  I  was  not  willing  to  go  with- 
out the  clerks.  I  knew  what  awaited  me.  The 
assistant  persuaded  me  to  go  alone.  He  also  told 
me  that  in  case? the  deputy  clerks  should  not  suc- 
ceed in  settling  the  trouble,  the  case  would  go  over 
to  the  chief  clerk,  and  he  would  either  make  an 
end  to  the  trouble  or  close  the  shop. 

I  went  back  to  work.  Before  I  had  time  to  sit 
down,  the  foreman  began  again. 

"Well,  what  did  your  union  tell  you?  You  think 
I'm  afraid  of  you,  eh?  The  more  you  complain,  the 
worse  for  you !  I  shall  give  you  such  work  that  you 
will  not  be  able  to  make  two  dollars  a  week!" 

Sometimes  there  were  styles  of  which  parts  had 
to  be  sent  to  the  hemstitchers  outside.  (My  boss 
did  not  keep  any  hemstitching  machines.)  If  we 
got  a  bundle  of  that  work,  we  could  only  make  it 
ready  for  hemstitching.  To  keep  the  girls  busy,  the 
foreman  would  give  to  each  girl  two  bundles  —  one 
with  hemstitching,  the  other  to  be  completed,  so 
that  when  a  girl  had  her  work  ready  for  hem- 
stitching, she  would  work  on  the  other  bundle  until 
the  first  work  was  returned. 

That  day  the  boss  gave  me  only  such  bundles  as 


Work  Withheld  139 

required  hemstitching.  I  would  work  only  for  half 
an  hour  and  then  was  obliged  to  sit  idle  until  its 
return.  When  I  asked  for  a  bundle  that  I  could 
work  on  without  interruption,  he  refused  me.  I 
complained  to  the  boss.  The  boss  came  over  and 
asked  the  foreman  why  he  did  not  give  me  work, 
but  the  foreman  had  thrown  the  few  bundles  he 
had  into  the  girls'  baskets  and  said  to  the  boss  that 
I  would  have  to  wait  until  he  would  cut  some  more 
work.  I  showed  the  boss  the  extra  bundles  the  girls 
had  in  their  baskets  while  they  had  plenty  to  do 
without  them.  The  boss  took  a  bundle  from  a  girl's 
basket  and  put  me  to  work  on  it.  To  the  foreman 
I  heard  him  saying:  — 

"You  better  stop  troubling  the  girl  too  much!" 
When  he  walked  away  the  foreman  said :  — 
"You  see,  girls,  now,  what  good  friend  she  is  to 
you!  She  is  so  mean  she  grabs  your  work  from  the 
baskets  while  she  herself  has  a  full  basket  of  work! " 
That  exasperated  me  —  I  could  not  stand  it  any 
longer;  indeed,  I  had  a  full  basket  of  work,  but  I 
could  not  make  it  up  for  the  main  parts  of  it  were 
out  to  be  hemstitched. 

"You  are  a  mean  blackmailer!"  I  cried  out. 
"You  only  seek  to  discredit  me  before  the  girls!" 

To  the  girl  from  whose  basket  the  work  had  been 
taken  for  me,  I  said  that  I  would  gladly  give  the 
bundle  back  to  her  if  she  thought  I  had  taken  her 
work  away.  She  did  not  take  it. 


140  One  of  Them 

At  three  o'clock  the  clerks  came  again.  When  the 
complaint  was  read  before  the  boss,  he  said  he  knew 
nothing  about  it.  He  told  the  foreman  to  treat 
everybody  alike.  The  foreman  again  denied  every- 
thing, claiming  that,  on  the  contrary,  I  had  in- 
sulted him.  He  brought  in  my  basket  to  show  them 
how  much  work  I  had  and  accused  me  of  still  kick- 
ing despite  plenty  of  work.  But  when  I  explained 
that  nothing  could  be  done  with  the  work  until 
the  rest  of  it  came  back  from  the  hemstitchers,  the 
clerk  of  the  union  took  a  stand  against  the  foreman. 
He,  being  experienced  in  cases  like  mine,  under- 
stood the  game  of  the  foreman.  To  him  it  was  not 
new;  he  himself  had  had  similar  fights  with  bosses 
and  foremen  when  he  worked  in  the  shop.  But  the 
clerk  of  the  association,  who  had  never  worked  in 
a  shop,  had  no  idea  of  how  people  were  treated,  how 
they  suffered,  and  he  could  not  believe  all  my 
"tales"  —  as  he  called  my  statements.  He  could 
not  sympathize  with  me,  for  he  could  not  imagine 
that  such  things  could  be  done!  Still,  they  were; 
I  did  not  even  tell  a  third  of  what  we  endured 
from  the  foreman,  because  time  was  limited  and 
I  wanted  to  have  important  disputes  straightened 
out. 

In  the  presence  of  the  clerks  we  selected  a  test 
girl.  She  was  Mollie,  of  the  price  committee.  They 
told  us  that  in  case  we  would  not  agree  on  the  test, 
they'd  have  a  man  sent  up  to  make  the  prices. 


The  Boss's  Ultimatum  141 

When  they  left,  the  boss  came  over  to  us  and 
said:  — 

"Look  here,  girls,  you  wanted  the  clerks  and 
you  had  them!  But  I'm  telling  you  again  that  you 
may  have  a  thousand  clerks  to  make  prices  for 
you,  I  will  not  pay  a  cent  more  than  I  pay  you 
now!  I  cannot  afford  to  pay  you  more,  for  I  sell 
my  merchandise  cheap  and  I  can't  raise  the  price 
on  it." 

"Then,  why  don't  you  tell  that  to  the  clerks? 
What's  the  use  of  bothering  around  and  wasting 
people's  time  for  nothing?"  I  asked.  "You  sell 
your  merchandise  cheap,  you  compete  with  other 
firms,  and  you  want  us  to  stand  for  it?  No,  we  will 
not!  We  ourselves  gain  nothing  from  it  and  we 
spoil  the  prices  for  the  girls  in  the  other  shops; 
for  each  manufacturer  in  order  to  meet  competi- 
tion will  treat  his  help  in  the  same  way  as  you  do, 
and  the  other  girls,  who,  for  so  many  years  strug- 
gled and  fought  for  better  conditions,  will  have  to 
suffer  on  account  of  us !  No  —  a  thousand  times, 
no!  If  you  are  a  member  of  the  association,  you 
can  afford  to  pay  as  much  as  the  other  members 
do;  if  you  can't  —  all  right  —  give  up  your  busi- 
ness !  Somebody  else  will  have  to  make  up  the  work 
and  we'll  get  our  jobs  all  right!" 

"A — ah,  is  that  what  you  want?"  cried  the 
boss  in  anger.  "You  want  to  drive  me  out  of  busi- 
ness—  you  socialist,  you  anarchist,  that's  what 


142  One  of  Them 

you  are!  Go,  go!   Your  place  is  in  Russia,  to  fight 
the  Cossacks!" 

(I  don't  know  why  he  always  sent  me  to  fight 
the  Cossacks.) 

"I'm  telling  you  girls  again,"  he  continued,  "if 
I  have  to  pay  more,  I'll  give  up  the  business!  If 
you  suffer  afterward,  it  will  not  be  my  fault,  but 
hers!"   He  pointed  his  finger  at  me. 

"You,  Mollie,  go  ahead,  make  the  test,  and  let's 
see  how  it'll  come  out." 

Mollie  was  given  two  waists  to  test.  At  the  same 
time  the  foreman  gave  two  waists  to  Sadie.  He 
did  not  trust  Mollie,  though  he  said  that  she  was 
a  good,  respectable  girl. 

Mollie  tried  her  best  to  make  the  test  a  fair  one. 
Sadie,  who  saw  her  chance  to  show  her  devotion 
to  the  boss,  rushed  the  work  terribly,  and  when  she 
saw  that  she  was  not  ahead  of  Mollie,  she  had  the 
girl  next  to  her  help  her  out.  I  watched  them  all. 
Sadie  had  her  waists  finished  ten  minutes  before 
Mollie.  Of  course  Mollie's  test  was  not  accepted. 
According  to  her  test,  the  waists  had  to  be  priced 
at  forty-six  cents  apiece;  according  to  Sadie's,  the 
waist  came  out  at  thirty-five  cents.  All  the  boss 
wanted  to  pay  was  thirty  cents  a  waist. 

When  the  expert  came,  he  priced  the  waist  at 
fifty  cents.  He  said  that  for  a  waist  like  that, 
fifty  cents  was  paid  in  all  union  shops.  The  boss 
refused  to  pay  either  price.   He  claimed  it  was  im- 


Section  Work  143 

possible  for  him  to  exist.  He  made  a  proposition 
to  have  the  work  made  in  sections.  The  garment 
should  as  before  be  divided  into  collars,  cuffs, 
bodies,  sleeves,  belts.  Each  part  should  be  settled 
by  the  dozen,  and  each  part  of  the  waist  should  be 
made  by  a  different  girl. 

I  did  not  agree  to  it,  neither  did  the  union  clerk. 
I  tried  to  make  the  girls  see  the  danger  for  them  in 
section  work.  No  skill  is  required.  Anybody  could 
learn  in  a  week  or  less  to  make  a  certain  part  of 
the  garment.  The  girls,  not  being  skilled  workers, 
would  always  have  to  depend  on  that  one  shop,  and, 
of  course,  would  never  be  able  to  take  a  stand 
against  any  wrong,  for  fear  of  losing  their  positions. 

Again  he  condemned  me  for  holding  back  the 
girls.  He  would  file  a  complaint  against  me  to 
his  association.  As  witnesses  he  had  Sadie  and 
his  other  week-worker,  who  testified  that  I  had 
threatened  the  girls  to  make  them  join  the  union 
and  that  I  had  stopped  them  from  work  against 
their  will.  The  other  girls  were  afraid  to  say  any- 
thing. I  began  to  grow  disgusted  with  them.  For 
two  weeks  we  had  worked  and  I  had  made  only 
nine  dollars. 

The  association  and  the  union  at  last  took  more 
interest  in  the  case.  For  three  days  clerks  would 
come  and  go,  come  and  go;  they  could  not  come 
to  an  understanding.  At  last  the  boss  announced 
that  he  would  give  up  the  business. 


144  One  of  Them 

Some  of  the  girls  began  to  blame  me.  They  said 
that  they  would  rather  work  there  than  have  noth- 
ing. I  tried  to  assure  them  that  they  would  find 
better  places,  but  the  foreman  would  agitate  them 
against  me.  Again  he  would  tell  them  that  I  pur- 
posely raised  trouble  in  the  shop  to  harm  them. 
He  announced  that  those  who  were  willing  to  work 
for  the  price  the  boss  would  pay,  should  stay; 
those  who  were  not,  might  go. 

Again  I  had  a  meeting  with  the  girls.  All  the 
will-power  I  possessed  I  used  to  the  utmost  that 
evening  in  convincing  the  girls  of  the  great  mis- 
take they  would  make  if  they  consented  to  work 
under  old  conditions. 

In  the  morning  when  we  had  our  work  finished, 
we  told  the  foreman  that  we  would  only  work  there 
if  we  had  a  strictly  union  shop  with  union  con- 
ditions. He  announced  that  no  more  work  would 
be  cut  and  that  we  were  free  to  look  for  positions. 
I  took  all  the  girls  with  me  and  went  to  the  union 
office. 

I  felt  responsibility  for  them,  and  there  was 
nothing  in  the  world  I  would  not  do  for  them  so 
they  should  not  regret  their  old  shop.  The  assist- 
ant chief  clerk  told  us  that  the  case  was  already 
in  the  hands  of  the  chief  clerk,  and  I  would  have 
to  wait  for  a  definite  answer.  He  also  advised  that 
none  of  us  should  look  for  another  job  until  we 
heard  the  final  decision. 


Waiting  Developments  145 

We  sat  in  the  union  office  the  whole  day,  but 
could  not  get  a  chance  to  see  the  chief.  He  was  too 
busy  with  many  similar  cases.  I  was  told  to  come 
in  the  next  day.  My  girls  began  to  grow  impatient 
and  displeased. 

I  begged  them  all  to  stay  home  next  day  and  not 
worry.  And  all  that  night  I  lay  awake  thinking 
how  to  get  positions  for  them  in  case  the  boss  really 
closed  his  shop. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AT  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning,  I  was  in  the 
union  office  again.  The  assistant  chief  clerk 
told  me  that  as  the  manufacturer  had  not  informed 
the  association  of  his  intention  to  give  up  the  busi- 
ness our  manager  considered  it  a  lockout,  and  had 
filed  a  complaint  against  the  firm.  At  ten  o'clock 
the  deputy  clerks  went  with  the  complaint  to  the 
firm,  taking  me  with  them*  The  boss  informed 
them  that  he  was  discontinuing  manufacturing  be- 
cause he  could  not  pay  according  to  the  decision 
of  the  deputy  clerks.    So  the  case  was  dropped. 

Going  back  to  the  union  office,  I  sat  there  again 
all  day,  waiting  for  the  chief  clerk  to  tell  me  what 
to  do.  Many,  many  girls  with  similar  grievances 
were  sitting  in  the  office,  waiting  for  the  union 
to  help  them.  The  disgust  and  sorrow  in  their  eyes 
was  so  deep !  All  of  them  were  so  young  and  so  pale. 
"Why  is  life  so  hard  to  them?"  I  asked  myself. 
"  Is  it  their  fate  to  fall  victims  of  life?  Why?  Why? 
The  spring  of  their  youth  they  spend  in  shops 
creating  luxuries  for  others,  the  later  years  they 
spend  in  dark,  choking  tenement-houses,  starving 
with  their  husbands  and  children  three  quar- 
ters of  each  year.  At  forty,  they  are  already  old, 
weak  and  unattractive.  Their  days  are  so  gray,  so 


A  Union  Leader  147 

monotonous  —  and  so  their  lives  are  lived.  Under 
the  heavy  burden  of  poverty,  their  dignity,  their 
self -consciousness,  their  ambitions  are  killed.  Why 
don't  they  rebel?  Why  don't  they  stand  up  against 
those  who  enslave  them  —  against  those  who  kill 
their  human  spirit?" 

"What  is  the  matter,  young  lady?" 

I  raised  my  head.  Two  very  kind  eyes  from  a 
sympathetic  face  looked  at  me.  I  was  so  absorbed 
in  my  thoughts  that  I  had  not  noticed  a  man  stand- 
ing near  me.  He  was  the  manager  of  the  "Inde- 
pendent Department"  and  also  one  of  the  first 
leaders  to  organize  the  Waist  and  Dressmakers' 
Union.  For  the  first  time  I  spoke  with  a  union 
leader  face  to  face,  with  a  man  who  was  the  father 
of  our  present  organization. 

"What  are  you  worried  about?"  he  asked. 
"I'm  watching  you  for  quite  a  few  minutes;  your 
face  is  so  troubled." 

His  voice  was  soft,  his  face  so  extraordinarily  kind, 
with  so  much  sympathy  for  me.  I  told  him  all  my 
troubles.    He  sighed. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head,  "for  so 
many  years  I'm  in  this  movement,  for  so  many 
years  I  spend  my  days  and  nights  trying  to  help 
the  enslaved  ones,  and  still  the  same  old  story, 
the  same  hungry  faces,  the  same  dim  eyes  follow 
me,  day  in,  day  out.  If  the  workers  would  realize 
their  position  how  much  better  it  would  be  for 


148  One  of  Them 

them.  — I'm  looking  at  you  now  and  I  am  think- 
ing of  the  many  sweet  young  faces,  the  many 
enthusiastic  souls  like  yours,  I  saw  only  recently. 
Those  very  faces,  to-day,  are  so  changed,  their 
youth  is  faded  before  its  time.  My  heart  bleeds 
looking  at  them.  —  And  you,  you  are  also  to  be 
brought  to  the  altar  of  capitalism,  and  you  are  so 
young,  so  charming.  Fight,  my  little  girl,  fight 
against  all  who  would  injure  you.  Let  them  pay 
too  high  a  price  for  every  bit  of  happiness  you  lose." 

For  two  hours  we  talked.  I  almost  forgot  for 
what  I  had  come  to  the  union.  His  friendly  con- 
versation filled  my  heart  with  warmth. 

At  five  o'clock  the  chief  clerk  came  from  the 
association.  He  told  us  the  reason  he  could  not 
give  us  a  definite  answer  was  that  he  did  not  be- 
lieve our  boss  was  giving  up  manufacturing.  Once 
previously  he  had  done  the  same  thing;  he  kept  a 
shop  on  Division  Street,  where  horrible  conditions 
prevailed,  and  when  his  employees  began  to  organ- 
ize, he  claimed  that  he  was  giving  up  business. 
When  the  workers  had  all  left  the  shop,  he  then 
opened  a  new  place  on  West  Eighteenth  Street. 
Suspecting  that  he  would  play  the  same  trick 
again,  the  chief  clerk  insisted  that  our  boss  should 
resign  from  the  association,  so  he  should  not  have 
its  protection  any  more  and  the  union  might  know 
how  to  treat  him.  The  shop  was  given  up  and  we 
really  had  to  look  for  other  jobs.  I  wanted  to  speak 


Committees  at  the  Union  149 

to  the  chief  clerk  to  ask  his  advice  what  to  do,  for 
I  had  to  give  an  answer  to  the  rest  of  the  people. 
And  I  feared  that  they  would  not  understand  the 
situation  as  I  did.  But  there  were  so  many  com- 
mittees waiting  for  him  that  he  could  not  spare 
me  a  minute  more.  He  asked  if  I  could  wait  until 
the  committees  were  all  gone.  I  gladly  sat  waiting, 
because  I  was  very  anxious  to  have  a  talk  with 
him.  I  was  also  very  much  interested  to  hear  what 
the  committees  from  the  various  shops  had  to 
say. 

For  the  first  time  I  heard  the  shop  chairladies, 
who  represented  the  workers  in  their  respective 
shops,  put  their  complaints  before  the  chief  clerk. 
Many  of  them  spoke  with  much  bitterness,  many 
spoke  with  disgust  of  the  protocol.  Under  the 
machinery  of  the  protocol,  their  complaints  would 
often  linger  for  months  and  months  before  they 
could  be  decided.  While  in  a  non-protocol  union 
shop,  complaints  were  always  decided  in  the  first 
or  second  week. 

I  watched  them  all.  I  also  watched  the  manager, 
being  anxious  to  find  out  how  he  dealt  with  the 
various  difficulties,  how  he  advised  the  people,  and 
how  much  he,  himself,  was  really  interested  in 
everything. 

With  tightly  closed  lips,  knitted  brows  over  his 
eyes  that  were  deeply  set  in  their  orbits,  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face  seemed  severe.  There  on  a  chair 


150  One  of  Them 

he  sat,  listening  to  the  committees.  His  appearance 
was  in  great  contrast  to  the  other  manager.  I 
watched  him  rather  suspiciously,  for  he  was  one  of 
the  men  of  whom  I  had  heard  tales  of  his  riches  and 
the  valuable  diamonds  he  had  obtained  since  he 
had  become  a  labor  leader.  He  appeared  a  simple, 
strong-built  man,  with  a  fighting  spirit  and  much 
will-power.  His  voice  was  loud  and  clear.  To  me 
he  seemed  a  little  unfriendly,  for  the  other  manager 
spoke  so  softly  and  intimately  and  seemed  much 
pleasanter. 

I  waited  for  a  long  time  until  the  last  committee 
was  gone.  It  was  quiet  in  the  office,  and  most  of 
the  officers  had  left. 

"Oh,  what  a  hard  day's  work  I  have  had!"  he 
said,  taking  a  deep  breath.  —  "  Well,  little  sister,  can 
I  be  of  any  help  to  you?"  asked  he  so  softly  I  was 
astonished.  The  harshness  of  his  face  disappeared 
so  suddenly,  it  seemed  to  have  left  with  the  com- 
mittees. From  under  his  knitted  brows  two  gray 
eyes  filled  with  enthusiastic  fire  looked  at  me.  His 
lips  widened  into  a  pleasant,  almost  childish,  smile. 

Before  me  now  sat  a  man  whose  hair  had  turned 
gray,  but  his  face  was  so  youthful,  — a  kind,  sincere 
face,  —  it  was  hard  for  me  to  believe  that  he  was 
the  same  man  whom  I  had  seen  only  a  few  minutes 
ago,  sitting  on  the  same  chair,  with  such  a  severe 
face.   I  asked  him  the  reason  for  the  change. 

"My  friend,"  he  answered,  "having  such  a  hard 


A  Talk  with  a  Union  Leader      151 

day's  work,  such  a  hard  fight  on  two  cases  as  I  had : 
fighting  with  people  who  know  they  are  wrong,  yet 
will  not  give  in,  with  people  who  are  trying  to  get 
the  best  of  the  agreement,  and  who,  themselves, 
violate  every  provision  of  it.  It 's  maddening.  Com- 
ing back  from  the  association  tired  and  exhausted, 
I  find  so  many  committees  awaiting  my  help,  their 
sufferings,  their  helplessness  impress  me  so  that  had 
I  the  strength  of  Samson,  I  would  destroy  the  pres- 
ent damn  world."  The  last  words  he  pronounced 
grinding  his  teeth.  "  And  that  is  what  made  me 
look  so  angry,  severe  —  as  you  say.  Would  the 
workers  only  realize  their  strength  and  know  how 
to  use  it,  we  could  revolutionize  the  world  in  no 
time.  We  need  to  create  a  new,  a  better  world." 

For  a  long  time  we  talked.  After  he  had  promised 
to  help  me  to  find  jobs  for  the  girls,  our  conversa- 
tion took  a  more  personal  character.  I  was  anxious 
to  know  his  opinions  on  many  things  and  I  also 
wanted  to  know  a  little  about  himself.  My  many 
questions  he  answered  with  delight.  He  was  a  man 
who  had  grown  up  in  the  labor  movement;  had 
spent  a  life  full  of  activity  in  the  trade-unions,  a 
man  whose  sole  object  was  the  advancement  of  his 
class.  A  child  of  the  working-class,  a  worker  him- 
self, he  struggled  together  with  them,  shared  their 
sufferings  as  one  of  them.  He  also  told  me  about 
the  different  unions  and  their  lost  or  successful 
strikes,  of  which  I  knew  so  little.   He  spoke  much 


/ 


152  One  of  Them 

about  our  Waist  and  Dressmakers'  Union,  expres- 
sing his  views  with  optimism. 

Mr.  Baroff  entered  the  room.  "Are  you  still 
here?  It  is  so  late." 

"I  captured  her  attention  and  we  have  been 
talking  all  the  time,"  answered  Mr.  Polakoff. 

I  rose  from  my  chair.  It  really  was  late.  I  had 
not  noticed  how  time  had  passed,  being  so  inter- 
ested in  our  conversation. 

"Be  here  to-morrow,  and  we'll  find  jobs  for  you 
and  your  girls."  Both  of  them  promised  to  do  it. 
"And  if  you  are  really  interested  to  know  what  the 
protocol  is,  you  begin  to  study  it  attentively,  and 
if  there  is  anything  that  you  do  not  understand,  I 
shall  gladly  explain  it  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Polakoff, 
before  we  parted. 

I  felt  happy  that  night.  A  new  world  seemed  to 
open  before  me.  The  meeting  with  the  managers 
enlightened  my  mind  and  filled  my  heart  with  en- 
thusiasm for  the  labor  movement.  In  my  ears  rang, 
"Fight,  my  little  girl,  fight  against  the  world, 
against  those  who  insult,  against  those  who  injure 
you."  These  were  the  words  of  one. 

"Did  I  possess  the  strength  of  Samson,  I  would 
destroy  this  present  damn  world,"  rang  the  words 
of  the  other. 

So,  for  the  first  time,  I  met  two  people  who  were 
the  heads  of  our  organization,  two  union  leaders  — 
one  the  symbol  of  love  and  kindness,  the  other  the 


Thoughts  on  Union  Leaders       153 

embodiment  of  strength  and  determination,  and  just 
as  much  kindness  that  was  hidden  deep  in  his  heart. 

And  these  labor  leaders  —  were  called  "fakers." 
According  to  the  statement  of  the  bosses,  who  saw 
in  them  their  bitterest  enemies,  those  labor  leaders 
lived  on  the  "people's  backs."  The  bosses  tried  to 
impress  this  on  the  workers'  mind  in  order  to  sow 
distrust  in  the  movement,  and  in  many  cases  they 
succeeded.  Ignorant  people  would  take  the  prej- 
udiced statements  for  granted  and  would  either 
refuse  to  join  the  union,  or  those  who  belonged 
would  accuse  the  leaders  of  dishonesty  and  would 
disturb  the  members'  meetings  in  attacking  them 
without  reason,  without  facts.  A  great  many  of  our 
members  forgot  that  the  union  leaders  are  selected 
from  among  the  ranks;  they  are  not  given  the  lead- 
ership because  of  their  aristocratic  family  connec- 
tions. They  are  given  leadership  because,  through 
long  years  of  self-denial  and  suffering  for  the  labor 
cause,  through  tireless  activity  in  the  "movement," 
through  enthusiastic  fights  for  the  rights  of  the 
workers,  they  have  proved  their  energy  and  their 
ability  to  lead.  The  members  often  forget  that  the 
leaders  of  to-day  are  only  the  co-workers  of  yes- 
terday. Instead  of  assisting,  of  cooperating  with 
them,  they  fight  them.  People  wTho  would  give  I 
their  lives  for  the  "movement"  were  called  traitors. 

The  next  morning  when  I  came  to  the  union  office 
to  meet  my  girls,  who  waited  impatiently  for  re- 


154  One  of  Them 

suits,  the  manager  of  the  "Independent  Depart- 
ment" had  called  up  a  few  shops  inquiring  for  po- 
sitions for  the  girls.  The  first  two  positions  he  got 
I  sent  up  two  girls,  one  a  competent  worker  and 
the  other  a  learner.  Before  I  sent  them  away,  I 
took  a  promise  from  the  competent  girl  to  take  care 
of  the  other.  A  few  I  sent  to  answer  advertisements 
in  the  paper,  and  they  found  jobs  for  themselves. 
Mollie  and  her  sister  I  sent  to  the  shop  where  I  had 
first  learned  the  trade.  Through  my  recommenda- 
tion they  got  employment  there,  where  one  of  the 
sisters  is  still  working. 

At  home  that  day  I  was  surprised  to  find  my 
brother  in  my  room. 

"What  has  happened?  Are  you  not  working?" 
I  asked. 

He  told  me  that  he  had  a  scrap  with  the  boss  and 
left.  It  shocked  me  a  little,  for  I  knew  how  hard  it 
would  be  for  him  to  find  a  job,  as  he  was  strange 
and  did  not  know  the  language.  Just  at  that  time 
unemployment  began  (October,  1913).  Hundreds 
were  walking  around  idle.  After  Christmas  the  un- 
employed were  counted  by  the  thousands. 

"What  are  we  to  do,  in  case  he  does  not  find 
work?"  I  thought.  For  the  last  five  weeks  having 
trouble  in  my  shop,  I  had  earned  so  little  that  the 
few  dollars  I  had  saved  during  the  previous  weeks 
were  all  gone.  I  would  not  have  enough  even  to 
pay  my  rent,  if  I  did  not  go  to  work  immediately. 


The  Brother  in  Trouble  155 

I  scolded  my  brother  for  his  hastiness.  I  tried  to 
make  him  understand  that  a  learner  must  be  more 
obedient.  He  was  not  a  real  learner,  he  had  had 
some  experience  at  home,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact 
every  newcomer  is  considered  a  learner. 

The  reason  why  he  left  his  boss  was,  as  he  said : 
"Is  it  not  enough  that  I  work  for  almost  no  wages 
at  all?  He  should,  at  least,  respect  me  a  little 
more."  (He  did  not  know  that  those  who  get  the 
least  money,  get  the  least  respect.)  "He  is  using 
me  as  an  errand  boy,  as  if  I  were  only  fourteen 
years  of  age.  Besides,  his  language  to  his  helpers 
is  so  overbearing,  really,  I  can't  stand  it." 

I  argued  with  him  for  a  long  time  trying  to  make 
him  understand  that  we  must  bow  our  heads  and 
wait  patiently  until  we  were  able  to  stand  up 
against  the  abuses.  I  also  told  him  what  I  had  gone 
through.  He  was  shocked. 

"Why,  you?  You  were  scolded  and  abused? 
You,  who  were  loved  and  honored  in  the  family, 
respected  by  every  one  in  our  home  town,  you  took 
quietly  the  insults  of  those  old  clodhoppers  ?" 

"I  did  not  take  them  quietly;  they  were  imposed 
on  me,"  I  replied. 

Tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  "I  could  never  imagine 
that,"  he  said  in  a  trembling  voice. 

He  promised  me  to  be  more  careful  in  the  future, 
but  back  to  the  old  shop  he  would  not  go. 

To  reduce  my  expenses,  —  for  I  did  not  know 


156  One  of  Them 

how  long  my  brother  and  I  might  be  out  of  work, 
—  we  moved  together  into  a  small  room  on  the 
fifth  floor,  somewhere  on  Ninth  Street.  Meals  I 
made  myself  for  both  of  us. 

Fortunately,  we  both  found  positions  the  next 
week.  An  acquaintance  of  mine,  working  on  sam- 
ples in  a  large  firm,  took  me  up  there.  It  was  a 
non-union  shop.  As  I  learned  later,  the  union  had 
had  several  fights  with  that  firm.  The  firm  refused 
to  recognize  the  union,  and  in  order  to  punish  the 
strikers,  the  boss  opened  factories  in  the  country 
around  New  York,  sending  all  the  work  out  there, 
thus  compelling  the  people  to  return  to  the  shop 
on  the  old  terms. 

The  firm  had  practiced  the  same  method  several 
times,  whenever  the  workers  made  an  attempt  to 
organize  themselves.  When,  in  1909,  the  first  gen- 
eral strike  of  the  Waist  and  Dressmakers'  Union 
was  called,  the  firm  closed  up  the  shop  altogether, 
getting  their  merchandise  made  in  the  country 
shops.  Later,  when  the  strike  was  over,  the  city 
shop  was  reopened,  mostly  with  green  Italians  who 
worked  on  the  old  conditions.  The  union  had  made 
several  attempts  to  organize  the  country  people, 
but  had  always  failed.  The  workers  were  American 
girls,  most  of  whom  were  partially  supported  by 
their  people  and  did  not  feel  the  pressure  as  self- 
supporting  girls  do.  They  worked  for  any  pay 
given  to  them.  In  other  words,  the  parents  worked 


A  New  Position  157 

for  their  children  while  the  children  worked  for  the 
employers;  neither  parents  nor  children  reaping  a 
just  reward  for  their  work. 

In  1913  when  the  general  strike  was  called  again, 
the  firm  succeeded  in  holding  back  the  sample- 
makers,  who  were  twelve  in  number,  by  reducing 
the  hours  and  raising  their  wages  a  dollar  more 
than  the  union  demanded.  Securing  the  sample 
hands,  who  supplied  all  the  country  shops  with 
samples,  the  firm  continued  manufacturing  with- 
out interruption,  getting  the  work  made  outside 
of  New  York. 

I  was  the  thirteenth  sample-maker.  We  worked 
in  a  large,  light,  airy  room,  our  salaries  were  favor- 
able, and  we  were  never  fined  for  coming  in  late. 
But  if  it  was  pleasant  in  the  sample-room,  it  was 
terrible  in  the  factory;  the  prices  were  so  small  that 
the  most  expert  could  not  make  more  than  ten  or 
eleven  dollars  a  week,  while  the  average  operator 
made  no  more  than  seven  dollars  a  week.  With  the 
exception  of  a  few  Jewish  girls,  they  were  all  Ital- 
ians and,  as  usual,  closely  related  to  each  other. 

When  the  organizer  in  our  union  learned  that  I 
worked  there,  he  wanted  me  to  try,  if  possible,  to 
get  the  girls  to  join  the  union.  He  still  hoped  to 
organize  the  place.  It  was  the  end  of  October,  just 
when  the  slack  season  was  beginning,  so  I  risked 
losing  my  position.  Still,  I  promised  to  try. 


CHAPTER  XH 

NOW  that  I  was  provided  with  work  again,  I 
had  time  to  think  a  little  of  myself.  For  a 
long  time  I  had  not  had  any  recreation.  Before,  I 
had  not  had  any  money,  and  then  I  was  too  busy 
to  think  of  it.  The  coming  season  in  the  dramatic 
and  musical  world  promised  to  be  very  interesting, 
and  I  longed  so  much  for  a  good  opera  or  play. 
If  food  was  necessary  for  my  physical  hunger, 
music  and  drama  were  necessary  for  my  mental 
hunger. 

At  that  time  the  Century  Opera  Company  gave 
operas  at  popular  prices.  When  I  had  paid  my  debt 
to  my  friend  Clara,  I  at  once  went  to  the  opera 
house  and  spent  five  dollars  for  tickets  at  twenty- 
five  cents  each,  so  that  if  I  happened  to  lose  my 
position  and  be  out  of  money  again,  I  should,  at 
least,  be  provided  with  tickets  for  the  next  few 
weeks.  I  also  secured  tickets  for  the  Manhattan 
Opera  Company,  where  Pavlova  was  dancing  at 
that  time.  But  the  highest  price  I  paid  for  Caruso. 
He  would  often  cost  me  a  few  lunches  and  dinners 
that  I  went  without  in  order  to  save  enough  to  buy 
standing-room.  I  would  go  right  from  work,  to 
stand  in  line  for  general  admission.  If  it  happened 
to  rain,  my  clothes  would  be  soaked  through  and 


Opera  Audiences  159 

through.  With  wet  clothes,  I  would  stand  through 
the  performance,  changing  from  foot  to  foot,  while 
there  were  always  some  empty  seats  in  the  or- 
chestra. Very  often,  I  would  pay  with  a  cold  the 
next  day.  But  the  magic  of  the  music  was  so  great, 
that  I  forgot  the  cold  as  soon  as  it  was  past  and 
went  again  at  the  next  opportunity. 

The  opera  house  was  the  only  place  where  I  en- 
vied the  rich.  I  did  not  envy  them  their  expensive 
clothes,  nor  their  diamonds.  I  envied  them  their 
comfortable  chairs  which  often  were  empty  through 
most  of  the  performance.  People  would  frequently 
come  in  during  the  second  act,  and  leave  at  the 
beginning  of  the  last.  Some  of  them  would  yawn 
all  through  the  performance. 

Of  course,  the  greater  part  of  the  audience  sat 
listening  to  the  opera  with  much  pleasure.  But 
many  sat  as  if  it  were  a  duty  to  listen  to  the  music. 
They  impressed  me  as  coming  only  to  show  their 
latest,  and  indeed  very  becoming,  fashions. 

Besides  the  theatre,  I  also  attended  different 
lectures  on  modern  literature,  of  which  I  am  so 
fond.  My  favorite  authors  were  Ibsen,  Maeter- 
linck, Prshebishevsky,  Andreev,  Strindberg,  Gorky, 
and  many  others. 

At  home,  in  Russia,  I  always  had  time  enough  to 
read.  In  the  small  town  where  I  lived,  there  was 
no  library.  (There  was  a  small,  unimportant  li- 
brary in  the  public  school,  but  only  for  the  pupils, 


160  One  of  Them 

not  for  the  public.)  In  the  cities  were  good  libra- 
ries, but  they  were  closed  the  most  part  of  the 
year,  and  Russia  thought  it  unnecessary  to  install 
libraries  in  small  towns.  Our  town  was  big  enough 
to  keep  two  monopol  —  stores  of  vodka  —  that 
drink  bringing  ruin  upon  the  people,  but  not  for 
a  library  to  enlighten  the  people's  minds. 

A  group  of  us,  young  boys  and  girls,  got  together 
and  from  our  own  money,  after  a  long  time  of 
hard  effort,  created  a  small  library,  hoping  to  in- 
crease it  from  time  to  time.  Not  being  able  to  get 
a  permit,  we  had  to  keep  it  secretly.  But  the  chief 
of  police  soon  learned  of  it.  He  immediately  paid 
us  a  visit,  searching  for  revolutionary  literature. 
The  result  of  his  visit  was  the  destruction  of  our 
library,  at  that  time  worth  two  hundred  roubles, 
and  the  arrest  of  many  of  our  members.  The  worst 
of  all  was  that  he  sold  our  books  to  his  gendarmes 
for  ten  or  fifteen  cents  apiece,  and  we  could  never 
get  them  back.  We  were  left  without  any  literature 
at  all  —  and  that  was  such  a  painful  blow,  but 
only  one  of  the  many  I  had  received  in  my  native 
land  —  Russia. 

How  hateful  the  word  Russia  *  sounded.  The 
ignorance  in  which  Russia  was  trying  to  keep  her 
people,  the  many  obstacles  she  put  in  the  way  of 
my  nation,  —  particularly  the  limitation  of  civil 

1  Not  as  a  country,  but  as  an  autocratic  Government,  I  hated  it. 
The  country  itself  is  very  dear  to  me. 


Getting  Books  in  Russia  161 

rights  for  us,  —  the  desecration  of  our  lives  and 
private  property,  that  the  Government  practiced 
upon  us  so  often,  the  severe  persecutions,  kindled 
fires  of  hatred  in  our  hearts  that  burn  for  a  life- 
time. 

When  our  library  was  destroyed,  we  began  to 
think  of  some  other  way  of  getting  literature,  for 
we  could  not  be  without  it. 

Many  of  us  began  to  subscribe  to  weekly  maga- 
zines which  gave  us  very  good  classics  as  premiums 
in  addition  to  the  magazine.  Some  subscribed  for 
a  monthly  magazine,  "The  Modern  World,"  in 
which  many  of  the  modern  writers  appeared.  A  few 
of  us  had  friends  in  the  city  who  supplied  us  with 
books  through  the  mail.  We  would  usually  read 
and  discuss  together,  —  that  helped  us  in  widen- 
ing our  ideas  and  understanding  what  we  read. 
If  any  one  happened  to  visit  the  city,  he  or  she 
would  attend  lectures,  also  the  theatre,  and  would 
come  home  with  a  fresh  supply  of  impressions, 
with  the  criticism  of  the  lectures  and  performances, 
and  share  it  with  the  rest  of  us.  Difficult  as  it  was 
for  us  to  get  what  we  wanted,  still  we  succeeded 
in  reading  the  best  classics,  Russian  and  foreign, 
also  a  great  deal  of  the  modern  literature.  Our 
teachers,  who  came  from  the  city,  would  be  aston- 
ished at  our  wide  knowledge  of  literature.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  we,  who  met  with  such  difficulties 
in  getting  knowledge,  knew  much  more  than  most 


162  One  of  Them 

of  the  city  students  who  had  the  privileges  of  the 
best  libraries. 

Since  I  had  left  home,  I  had  done  very  little 
reading.  The  struggle  for  existence,  the  worry 
about  work,  the  trouble  in  the  shops,  had  occupied 
my  mind  and  time.  But  now  that  I  was  a  little 
better  off  financially,  I  gave  myself  up  entirely  to 
reading.  I  often  visited  the  Public  Library;  I  was 
not  accustomed  to  being  served  so  readily  and 
receiving  every  book  for  which  I  asked.  And  if  I 
hated  New  York  with  its  palaces  and  slums,  if 
I  hated  it  for  its  many  capitalists,  I  gave  it  full 
credit  for  its  Public  Library  and  Museum  of  Art. 

It  was  there  that  I  found  my  coveted  America ; 
it  was  there  I  found  freedom  and  equality  I 

With  what  a  sense  of  adoration  I  would  behold 
that  colossal  building  of  a  wonderful  architecture! 
That  sacred  temple  which  holds  safe  within  its 
walls  the  inexhaustible  treasures  of  knowledge, 
light. 

A  worshipping  mood  often  possessed  me  as  I 
crossed  its  threshold.  In  happy  bewilderment  I 
would  stand  gazing  amidst  the  glaring  candelabra, 
high  pillars,  gliding  balustrades,  and  the  picture 
galleries.  The  Goddess  of  Light  seemed  to  flutter 
in  the  enchanting  silence. 

And  on  the  shelves  around  —  on  the  shelves, 
safely  tucked  up  for  immortality,  where  lie  the 
brain-children  of  the  world's  geniuses,  —  't  was  our 


Trouble  in  the  New  Shop  163 

inheritance !  'T  was  for  us  their  wisdom,  for  us  their 
celestial  illusions,  their  secrets  of  love  and  joy,  of 
sorrow  and  hatred.  We  —  all  of  us  —  are  the  heirs, 
and  if  my  eye  was  sometimes  disturbed  when  look- 
ing up  the  front  entrance  at  the  carved  names, 
Astor,  Lenox,  I  said  to  myself,  "Never  mind 
Astor,  never  mind  Lenox  —  't  is  ours,  ours  — 
everybody's!" 

After  three  weeks  of  prosperity  my  brother  again 
lost  his  job,  and  I  had  to  help  him  for  the  next  four 
months.  Had  I  not  lost  my  position,  we  could  have 
got  along  somehow;  but  after  five  weeks  I  was  dis- 
charged. I  once  before  mentioned  that  my  boss 
had  two  shops  in  New  York.  The  conditions  in 
both,  with  the  exception  of  the  sample-rooms,  were 
terrible.  The  prices  were  cut  lower  and  lower,  from 
day  to  day,  and  finally  thirty  of  the  more  brave 
people  in  the  other  shop  could  not  stand  it  any 
longer  and  they  went  on  strike.  As  soon  as  they 
were  out,  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Baroff,  the 
manager  of  the  Independent  Department  of  our 
union,  who  wanted  me  to  try  to  get  my  people  to 
join  in  the  strike,  for  if  we  did  not,  the  workers  in 
the  other  shop  would  lose  their  strike  because  their 
work  could  be  made  in  our  shop. 

I  promised  to  do  all  in  my  power. 

I  spoke  to  the  girls  in  the  sample-room.  I  ex- 
plained to  them  that  if  the  sample-makers  would 
stop  from  work  the  designers  would  have  no  sam- 


164  One  of  Them 

pies  for  the  country  shops.  And  if  the  boss  could 
be  made  to  realize  that  he  cannot  make  all  his  work 
in  the  country  shops,  he  would  at  last  recognize 
his  workers  as  an  organized  body. 

But  the  girls  would  not  listen  to  me. 

The  strikers  from  the  other  shop  began  to  picket 
our  place,  appealing  to  the  workers  for  help.  The 
boss  placed  a  few  policemen  to  guard  the  doors  and 
protect  us  from  "those  dangerous  people."  With 
contempt  I  chased  a  policeman  away  from  me, 
when  he  took  me  under  his  arm  to  protect  me  as 
a  picket  approached  me  on  my  way  out  from  the 
elevator. 

"Look  out,  little  girl,  they  will  hurt  you,"  he 
said. 

"I  shall  call  for  you  when  I  need  you,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  well,  I  'm  here  to  keep  order." 

The  pickets  did  not  know  how  hard  I  was  trying 
to  get  our  people  to  join  them  in  their  strike.  Their 
eyes  would  follow  me  with  hatred  as  they  followed 
all  the  others,  who  did  not  care  to  help  them.  The 
boss  and  designer  learned  that  I  tried  to  appeal  to 
the  sample-makers.  They  did  not  say  anything 
to  me,  but  their  angry  looks  and  the  difference  in 
their  treatment  told  me  what  I  might  expect. 

It  was  on  a  Friday  at  lunch-time.  We  had  only 
half  an  hour  for  lunch  and  usually  ate  inside.  I  had 
to  go  down  to  the  union  office  on  the  request  of  the 
manager.  When  I  had  my  coat  and  hat  on,  the  boss 


Out  of  Work  165 

came  over  to  me  and  asked  where  I  was  going. 
I  told  him  that  I  had  n't  any  lunch  and  was  going 
down  to  a  restaurant.  Suspecting  that  I  would  be 
watched,  I  went  into  a  restaurant,  but  only  to  walk 
through  it  and  out  through  another  door.  At  the 
union  I  had  a  talk  with  the  manager  and  got  some 
instructions  from  him  what  to  do.  When  I  came 
back  to  the  shop,  I  was  not  admitted.  Without  any 
explanation  I  was  given  my  pay  for  a  full  week  and 
told  to  go. 

The  strikers,  after  being  two  weeks  on  strike,  re- 
turned to  work  with  bowed  heads;  the  more  active 
girls  who  organized  the  strike  were  not  taken  back. 

It  was  then  the  end  of  November.  Again,  I  tasted 
the  bitterness  of  the  slack  season,  now  worse  than 
ever,  for  we  were  two  people  —  to  the  last  penny 
I  had  to  provide  for  my  brother. 

The  room  I  stayed  in  was  dreadful.  When  I 
worked,  I  was  home  so  seldom  that  I  did  not  mind 
so  much.  But  when  I  was  out  of  work  and  home 
most  of  the  time,  I  realized  the  surroundings  I  was 
in.  There  were  five  rooms  in  the  house.  Two  bed- 
rooms, a  front  room,  dining-room,  and  kitchen. 
Husband,  wife,  and  two  children  slept  in  one  bed-  / 
room,  two  of  their  sisters  slept  in  the  dining-room,/ x 
two  girl  boarders  slept  in  the  front  room,  and  a 
boy  slept  in  the  kitchen.  I  and  my  brother  slept 
in  the  last  bedroom.  While  to  me  the  house  seemed 
worse  than  hell,  the  people  in  the  house  thought 


166  One  of  Them 

it  not  so  bad,  for  in  all  the  block,  everybody  kept 
at  least  four  or  five  boarders,  in  addition  to  their 
own  big  families  —  and  they  were  no  exceptions. 

Bedbugs  were  everywhere,  not  only  in  the  beds, 
—  they  were  even  in  the  closets  with  the  clothes,  on 
my  bookcases  with  the  books. 

Oh,  how  miserably  those  days  passed!  Some- 
times I  would  clean  my  room  all  day  long,  clean, 
clean,  but  the  bugs  would  come  in  from  the  next 
room  and  I  could  never  rid  myself  of  them.  The  air 
from  so  many  people  in  the  house  was  so  thick  that 
I  would  have  to  hold  my  breath  while  passing  at 
night  to  my  room.  The  result  of  that  environment 
was  a  nasal  catarrh  which  has  been  with  me  ever 
since. 

I  had  to  run  away  from  there  if  I  valued  my  health, 
but  I  could  not  move  out  until  I  found  work. 

From  home  I  would  run  away  to  the  office  of  the 
union,  where  I  would  spend  most  of  the  day.  There 
I  met  hundreds  of  new  girls  each  day,  hundreds  of 
starved  faces  crying  for  help,  crying  for  justice. 
When  the  day's  work  would  be  over,  I  would  sit  and 
talk  to  the  managers.  It  gave  me  much  pleasure 
to  spend  my  time  with  them.  Their  conversations 
were  so  interesting,  so  refreshing.  I  was  not  the  only 
one  to  enjoy  their  warm  friendship.  I  was  one  of 
them,  one  of  the  thousands  for  whom  their  hearts 
beat  with  love  and  devotion. 


Sophie  167 

For  two  weeks  I  chased  the  city,  until  I  found 
a  job,  a  union  shop.  Here  again  I  met  with  the 
same  experience  as  in  my  first  union  shop  in  slack 
time.  The  boss  lowered  the  prices  and  the  workers 
refused  to  accept  the  low  prices.  The  same  quar- 
relling, the  same  bargaining  as  in  my  other  shops. 

On  the  price  committee  were  two  girls,  both  of 
them  experienced  workers,  who  had  been  in  the 
trade  about  twelve  years  and  could  judge  very 
well  the  right  price  for  a  garment.  One  of  them  — 
Sophie  was  her  name  —  would  fight  for  a  price 
more  than  the  other.  She  was  a  girl  of  twenty- 
seven  years.  Her  pronunciation  was  a  little 
peculiar.  She  pronounced  sh  as  s  and  s  she  pro- 
nounced sh  ;  her  ch  came  out  ts.  The  foreman  de- 
sired so  much  to  get  rid  of  her  on  the  price  com- 
mittee that  he  would  try  to  tease  and  cheapen  her 
before  the  girls.  He  would  imitate  her  pronuncia- 
tion at  every  opportunity  — 

"Hey,  Shophie,  I  wis'  that  you  would  get  mar- 
ried; you  are  too  old  to  shettle  prices." 

"Shophie,  don't  eat  tsocolate,  you  will  spoil 
your  old  teeth." 

That  poor  girl  swallowed  the  insults  without 
saying  a  word. 

What  provoked  me  most  was  that  the  girls  for 
whom  she  fought  would  burst  into  giggling  at  the 
foreman's  stupid  jokes. 

The  foreman  was  very  kind  to  me  the  first  days; 


168  One  of  Them 

he  found  pleasure  in  calling  me  "little  daughter," 
although  he  was  too  young  to  be  my  father. 

My  machine,  which  was  an  old  one,  was  impos- 
sible to  work  on,  and  he  promised  to  change  it  for 
a  better  one.  On  Monday  of  the  second  week  a  few 
new  machines  were  placed  and  I  got  one  of  the  new 
ones.  They  were  Wilcox  and  Gibbs  machines,  much 
quicker  than  the  others,  but  even  on  those  we 
could  make  very  little  at  the  prices  that  were  paid, 
and  one  morning  we  stopped  work.  The  boss  called 
for  a  clerk  from  the  union,  and  when  the  latter 
came  we  explained  to  him  that  we  refused  to  make 
up  the  work  because  the  boss  did  not  pay  a  satis- 
factory price.  Somehow,  with  the  help  of  the  clerk, 
the  prices  were  adjusted  and  we  began  work  again. 
But  instead  of  giving  the  settled  prices  to  his 
people,  he  sent  the  work  outside  claiming  that  he 
could  get  it  done  cheaper.  We  learned  the  very 
same  day  that  the  work  was  sent  up  to  the  eleventh 
floor  in  the  same  building.  It  was  also  a  union  shop 
and  our  boss  did  not  get  his  work  any  cheaper,  but 
he  simply  wanted  to  punish  us.  In  the  evening,  we 
had  a  meeting  to  talk  things  over.  I  urged  the  girls 
not  to  compromise  on  prices  because  that  might 
injure  the  workers  in  the  other  shops  as  well  as 
ourselves.  A  committee  of  two  was  selected  to 
watch  where  the  work  was  sent  out  so  that  we 
might  prevent  it. 

The  next  morning  when  I  stood  near  the  counter, 


Petty  Persecutions  169 

waiting  for  work,  the   foreman  asked  me,  "Are 
you  also  mixing  in  politics,  little  daughter?" 

As  through  magic  he  seemed  to  know  what  had 
been  done  at  the  meeting,  and  after  that  I  was  no 
more  "little  daughter."  It  was,  "Miss,  you  spoiled 
that  yoke.  Miss,  you  made  a  mistake  in  the  size. 
Hey,  miss,  the  stitches  are  too  big."  Everything 
suddenly  went  wrong  with  my  work.  The  aggrava- 
tion I  had  through  the  foreman  that  day  caused  me 
such  a  terrible  headache  that  at  four  o'clock  I  had 
to  go  home  and  lie  down. 


CHAPTER  Xm 

AT  home,  to  my  great  surprise,  I  found  the 
table  in  my  room  set  with  fruit,  corned  beef, 
ham,  and  many  other  good  things.  At  the  table 
sat  my  brother  and  another  young  man.  They 
both  jumped  up,  as  if  taken  unawares.  In  the 
young  fellow  I  recognized  my  brother's  pal  from 
home.  I  was  surprised  to  find  him  here.  My 
brother  called  me  out  of  the  room  to  explain :  — 

"Looking  around  for  work,  to-day,  I  found  him 
on  the  street.  We  were  both  surprised  to  see  each 
other.  He  was  looking  for  work  also.  He  has  been 
out  of  work  for  a  long  time  and  he  gave  up  his 
room,  two  days  ago,  not  having  any  money  to  pay 
his  rent.  He  slept  in  the  park  last  night.  I  was  so 
broken-hearted  by  his  story  that  I  forgot  to  think 
that  we  ourselves  had  no  money.  The  dollar  you 
gave  me  for  car-fare,  I  spent  for  all  that  food.  I 
purposely  bought  a  lot  of  things  to  make  him  think 
that  we  had  enough.  He  must  be  starved.  He  did 
not  want  to  come  up;  he  thought  that  you  would 
not  want  me  to  spend  so  much  money  when  I  had 
no  work;  but  I  assured  him  that  you  were  working 
in  the  shop  and  would  not  know  it.  And  even  if 
you  did  know,  you  would  not  be  against  it,  would 
you,  dear?  "  he  ended  in  a  begging  tone. 


A  Guest  Comes  171 

"Of  course,  I  would  not,  but  why  did  you  buy 
so  much?  There  is  enough  food  for  six  people.  Now 
you  will  have  no  car-fare,  how  are  you  going  to 
look  for  a  job?" 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,  I'll  walk.  I  am  strong  enough 
to  walk  for  a  week,"  he  said,  stretching  out  his 
muscles  to  show  me  his  strength. 

Poor  boy,  what  a  young,  self-sacrificing  thing! 
In  order  to  comfort  his  friend,  he  spent  all  the 
money  he  had.  I  knew  it  was  impossible  for  my 
brother  to  walk.  He  had  to  inquire  about  work  in 
different  places  both  up  and  down  town,  so  that  I 
had  to  give  him  another  dollar  and  that  meant  to 
economize  still  further  in  our  food.  But  I  admired 
his  generosity.  Trying  to  smile,  I  entered  the  room, 
sat  at  the  table  with  them,  and  tried  to  make  them 
forget  their  troubles.  I  could  not  eat,  but  with  de- 
light I  watched  both  of  them  consuming  the  food 
with  great  appetites.  Not  much  w^as  left  when  they 
had  finished.  As  the  boy  had  no  room,  I  told  them 
I  would  go  and  stay  overnight  with  Clara,  so  that 
he  could  have  my  bed.  I  also  gave  them  ten  cents 
for  a  moving-picture  show. 

I  tried  to  rest,  but  I  was  in  a  very  nervous  condi- 
tion, and  could  not  fall  asleep.  I  felt  tired  and  dis- 
pleased with  everything.  "What  is  to-morrow?" 
I  asked  myself  —  the  same  trouble  in  the  shop  with 
no  hope  in  the  future,  slack  season,  starvation,  — 
oh,  how  terrible,  how  monotonous,  life  continues! 


172  One  of  Them 

When  the  clock  struck  seven,  I  got  up.  I  had  a 
ticket  for  the  opera  that  evening  and  did  not  want 
to  miss  it. 

My  friend  Clara  accompanied  me  to  the  opera 
house.  On  the  last  bench  of  the  family  circle,  so 
high  that  the  people  on  the  stage  looked  like 
dwarfs,  we  sat  silently  waiting  for  the  music  to 
start.  Clara  made  several  attempts  to  start  a 
conversation,  but  I  tried  to  avoid  it;  it  was  hard 
for  me  to  talk.  I  was  tired  of  telling  the  same  old 
stories  over  and  over  again. 

"Take  it  easy,  take  it  easy,  kiddo,"  Clara  tried 
to  comfort  me. 

"Oh,  no,  Clara,  you  are  wrong,  wrong;  did  people 
not  take  life  so  easily,  we  would  have  a  much  better 
world  than  we  have  now,"  I  argued. 

"I  often  think  that  you  are  a  mystery  to  me, 
Lisa.  I  cannot  imagine  that  you  —  so  full  of  life 
—  should  be  so  pessimistic.  Now  you  jump,  sing, 
and  laugh  like  a  careless  child.  Then  your  eyes  fill 
with  sadness,  your  head  drops  as  if  all  the  world 
lay  heavy  on  your  shoulders." 

"Yes,  Clara,  it  is  true.  Just  because  I  am  full 
of  life,  I  am  pessimistic.  Like  a  fish  without  water, 
I  am  wriggling  in  this  world  without  happiness. 
Clara,  where  is  the  happiness  of  our  youth?  Where 
is  it?"  I  whispered  in  agony.  "I  want  joy,  I  am 
\\  young,  I  am  entitled  to  it,  I  do  not  want  to  content 
myself  with  a  dry,  sucked-out  bone  that  is  thrown 

V 


Caruso  in  La  Tosca  173 

to  me.  I  want  it  all  —  life  in  its  full  thickness !  I 
want  my  roses,  I  have  had  enough  thorns.  I  cannot 
stand  it  any  longer,  I  am  tired  of  it,  tired  of  every- 
thing." 

The  music  started.  I  was  all  transformed  into 
attention.  I  bathed  my  soul  in  the  wonderful 
sounds  of  the  music,  trying  to  wash  off  the  heavy 
melancholy  that  possessed  me,  gnawing,  gnawing, 
at  my  heart  and  soul. 

He  who  has  once  heard  that  opera  surely  re- 
members the  sweet  music  and  beautiful  words  of 
the  aria  from  the  third  act  of  "La  Tosca":  — 

"When  the  stars  were  brightly  shining 
And  faint  perfume  the  air  pervaded, 
Creaked  the  gate  of  the  garden, 
And  a  footstep  its  precincts  invaded. 
'T  was  hers,  the  fragrant  creature, 
In  her  soft  arms  she  clasped  me, 
With  sweetest  kisses,  tenderest  caresses, 
A  thing  of  beauty,  matchless  symmetry  and  feature, 
My  dream  of  love  is  now  dispelled  forever. 
I  lived  uncaring, 
And  now  I  die  despairing ! 
Yet  ne'er  was  life  so  dear  to  me,  no,  never."  ! 

Thousands  of  angels  began  dancing  in  the  air 
around  me  when  Caruso  began  the  aria. 

Now  slowly  and  melodiously,  now  loudly,  — 
thundering  with  despair,  —  now  mournfully,  with 
heart-breaking,  thrilling  sobs,  —  the  music  sobbing 
quietly  in  accord. 

1  English  translation  by  W.  B.  Kingston. 


174  One  of  Them 

How  I  wished  that  it  would  never  end!  To  sit 
there,  to  listen  with  bated  breath  to  the  heavenly 
sounds,  to  drink,  drink  those  delicious  melodies  and 
never  again  return  to  miserable  reality! 

On  our  way  home  I  was  very  silent.  I  thought  of 
the  successful  artists  of  whose  early  life  I  had  read. 
Who  knows,  perhaps  if  I  could  only  have  a  chance 
to  show  my  abilities  (I  had  a  good  soprano  voice)  — 
but  I  immediately  caught  myself  up  in  that  daring 
thought. 

But  I  am  very  emotional.  Many  people  at  home 
in  Russia  had  advised  me  to  select  a  stage  career. 
I  myself  had  the  strongest  wish  to  become  an 
actress,  but  my  parents  would  not  listen  to  it  — 
they  had  a  very  bad  opinion  of  an  actress,  they  saw 
no  art  in  it. 

Here  in  New  York  I  had  often  thought  of  it,  but 
I  was  afraid  to  try,  for  I  knew  no  one  who  could 
give  me  an  introduction  to  any  one  interested  in 
the  stage.  And  not  knowing  the  English  language, 
I  could  not  succeed  in  trying  all  alone  without  any- 
body's help. 

I  lay  in  bed  awake,  my  brains  puzzled  with  ques- 
tions. The  condition  of  life  in  which  I  was  placed 
enchained  me  and  drove  me  into  a  frenzy.  I  could 
not  stand  it.  I  must  get  away  from  such  a  life  — 
but  how?  What  can  I  do  in  order  to  better  my  eco- 
nomic condition,  and  make  my  life  more  attractive, 
fill  it  with  more  interest? 


An  Army  of  Workers  175 

I  can  do  nothing  but  make  waists  and  that  can 
give  me  just  enough  to  lead  a  miserable  life.  With 
the  exception  of  those  who  are  helped  out  by  their 
parents,  all  the  workers  in  our  industry  and  also 
in  many  others  live  in  terrible  surroundings.  Many 
of  them  not  only  support  themselves,  but  have  to 
support  their  parents  or  brothers  or  sisters. 

With  a  still  worse  headache,  I  awoke  the  next 
morning.  Clara  advised  me  to  stay  home  until  my 
headache  was  better,  but  I  could  not  afford  to  do 
that  and  I  went  to  work.  Thousands  of  people 
were  automatically  pushing  through  the  streets  to 
their  shops.  At  the  square  on  Fourteenth  Street, 
the  people  would  flow  in  from  all  the  streets  into 
the  small  path,  and,  like  quiet  waves,  one  crowd 
would  flow  after  the  other.  It  was  a  great  big  army, 
an  army  of  young  girls,  middle-aged  mothers, 
young  fellows,  and  old  fathers.  With  rayless  eyes, 
with  drooping  heads,  they  walked.  In  vain  the 
young  girls  tried  to  cover  with  paint  and  powder 
their  faded-before-its-time  beauty;  their  move- 
ments were  quick  but  automatic.  >v 

Like  in  a  funeral  procession,  I  walked  among 
them  —  I  saw  before  me  an  army  of  mourners  — 
I  saw  an  army  of  convicts,  people  who  were  sen- 
tenced to  eternal  poverty,  to  eternal  misery. 

"  Will  they  ever  raise  their  heads,  will  they  ever 
stand  up  and  throw  off  those  who  sit  on  their 
backs?"  I  thought. 


176  One  of  Them 

"If  the  workers  would  only  realize  their  strength 
and  use  it  jointly,  how  quickly  they  could  revolu- 
tionize the  world!" 

These  words,  once  said  by  one  of  the  managers 
of  our  union,  still  rang  in  my  ears. 

"Yes,"  I  thought,  "if  they  would  only  realize, 
what  a  better  world  they  could  create!" 

When  I  entered  the  shop,  I  found  my  new  ma- 
chine taken  away  and  the  old  broken  one  in  its 
place.  I  went  over  to  see  the  foreman  and  asked 
him  the  reason  for  that. 

He  said,  "A  good  worker  can  work  on  any 
machine." 

"But  my  machine  is  a  broken  one,  it  breaks  the 
threads  every  other  second  and  it  is  difficult  to 
make  a  straight  stitch,"  I  argued. 

"What  would  you  do  if  I  had  not  brought  in  any 
new  machines  at  all?" 

"But  you  brought  new  machines,  because  it  was 
impossible  to  work  with  the  old  ones,"  I  said. 

"Now,  don't  give  me  any  arguments.  I  see  that 
you  are  looking  for  trouble.  I  have  no  other  ma- 
chine for  you.   Don't  bother  me." 

I  tried  the  machine  again,  but  it  would  not  work, 
and  I  spent  all  morning  without  making  a  stitch. 

It  was  evident  that  the  foreman  wanted  to  rid 
himself  of  me,  because  I  had  advised  the  girls  to 
stand  up  for  their  rights. 

At  lunch-time  the  chairlady  went  downstairs 


How  Hard  Must  They  Work?      177 

with  me.  I  was  too  upset  to  think  of  eating,  so 
we  took  a  walk.  She  expressed  her  sympathy  and 
wanted  to  go  to  the  union  and  complain,  but  I 
would  not  let  her.  I  did  not  like  to  complain  about 
myself.  Besides,  the  boss  could  have  a  good  argu- 
ment by  stating  that  he  had  no  other  machine,  that 
the  new  machine  was  sent  away  because  he  did  not 
like  it.  He  could  give  all  sorts  of  arguments  about 
the  machine  and  I  did  not  want  our  union  clerk  to 
bother  in  vain. 

What  was  I  to  do?  To  go  back  to  the  shop  meant 
sitting  near  the  machine,  throwing  time  away.  To 
go  home  meant  still  worse.  And  the  day  was  such 
a  glorious  one!  It  was  one  of  those  beautiful  early 
December  days  when  the  air  is  so  frosty  and  fresh. 
Automobiles  were  rushing  up  and  down  Fifth 
Avenue,  carrying  people  with  happy,  self -contented 
faces. 

"Who  are  those  people?  How  and  where  do  they 
get  those  expensive  autos,  those  warm  furs,  and 
time  enough  to  enjoy  the  midday  ride?  Are  they 
working  for  it?  If  so,  where  and  how?  If  I  work 
so  hard  and  get  just  mere  bread,  a  filthy  home,  and 
a  poor  thin  coat,  how  hard  must  they  work  to  get 
those  costly  furs  and  those  beautiful  clothes?  " 

I  went  back  to  the  shop,  but  could  not  work. 
The  winter's  sun  shone  through  the  window,  and 
its  rays  were  so  soothing. 

"Out,  out!    Oh,  how  beautiful  it  is  outdoors! 


178  One  of  Them 

Here  the  people  sit  rushing  their  machines  to  make 
a  few  more  cents,  a  few  more  cents  to  add  to  their 
small  earnings;  they  do  not  have  time  to  glance  at 
the  beautiful  sun;  they  do  not  notice  its  alluring 
call.  Oh,  out,  out  to  the  park,  —  play  with  the 
snowballs,  run  in  the  snow,  skate  on  the  ice,  —  out, 
out,  to  laugh  carelessly,  to  play  freely,  to  think 
clearly,  to  forget  the  misery !  Oh,  out,  out ! " 

At  last,  with  great  effort,  I  had  my  bundle  of 
work  finished.  As  soon  as  I  started  to  work  on  a 
new  bundle,  I  had  my  first  bundle  brought  back  to 
me  to  be  fixed.  The  foreman  did  not  like  the  way 
I  had  made  it  up.  I  saw  nothing  wrong  with  it  but 
if  any  one  wishes  to  find  fault  it  could  be  found  with 
the  best  sample. 

After  I  had  fixed  it,  he  did  not  like  the  way  I  had 
fixed  it.  I  saw  no  way  to  please  him.  The  chairlady 
had  an  argument  with  him  about  it.  She  was  en- 
raged with  his  action,  but  he  cared  little.  I  knew 
I  could  complain  to  the  union,  but  I  also  knew  that 
if  the  foreman  had  made  up  his  mind  to  get  rid  of 
me,  I  would  have  to  complain  every  day. 

Yes,  he  handled  me  as  he  pleased;  my  weakness 
against  him  pained  me. 

I  sat  by  the  machine  exhausted  and  upset. 
' 'What  was  I  to  do?"  My  head  still  ached,  my 
thoughts  began  to  mingle  —  the  shop,  the  fore- 
man with  his  arguments,  the  opera  of  last  night, 
my  brother,  his  pal  —  everything  danced  before 


Forced  to  Leave  179 

me  in  dark  confusion.  I  grew  weaker  and  weaker 
and  felt  that  I  was  breaking  down. 

Not  to  show  my  weakness  I  stood  up,  straight- 
ened myself  quickly,  took  my  coat  and  left.  For  a 
long  time  I  wandered  around  the  streets,  resting  in 
the  squares,  until  I  went  to  Clara.  With  her  I  al- 
ways felt  better.  Late  that  night,  I  returned  home. 
My  brother,  thinking  I  was  not  coming,  had  his 
friend  with  him  again.  That  poor  boy  immediately 
sprang  up  to  go  away,  but  I  would  not  let  him. 
Together  with  my  brother  he  slept  in  a  narrow 
single  bed  while  I  slept  in  the  other. 

The  next  afternoon  I  went  to  the  union  office. 
Mr.  Baroff ,  the  manager,  was  surprised  to  see  me  in 
the  middle  of  the  day. 

"What  happened?  Are  you  not  working?" 

"I  left  because  I  did  not  like  the  place,"  I 
answered. 

He  looked  at  me.  I  suppose  he  understood  my 
downhearted  mood,  for  he  did  not  question  me  any 
more.  He  only  said:  "I  do  not  think  that  you  will 
find  any  work  until  January.  It  is  useless  to  look 
for  work  now.  You  had  better  stay  home  and  rest 
until  the  busy  season  begins." 

I  looked  at  him.  Did  he  really  mean  what  he 
said  or  was  he  joking? 

He  guessed  my  thoughts,  for  he  immediately 
explained  to  me:  — 

"My  dear  girl,  you  must  be  more  sensible,  and 


180  One  of  Them 

more  trustful  of  people  of  my  age.  When  I  asked 
you  to  accept  the  money  I  offered  you"  (he  once 
offered  me  a  loan,  but  I  had  refused  to  accept  it), 
"I  did  not  mean  to  give  it  to  you.  I  only  wanted 
to  help  you  out  until  you  and  your  brother  find 
good  jobs  and  could  repay  me.  You  are  not  the 
only  one  to  whom  I  lend  money.  I  have  not  much, 
but  little  as  I  have,  I  will  gladly  help  you  until  you 
begin  to  work,  and  then  you  will  repay  me.  I  know 
you  will." 

I  sat  on  the  chair  deadly  pale.  It  was  the  second 
time  that  he  had  offered  me  money.  He  simply 
begged  me  to  accept  it,  assuring  me  that  he,  also, 
had  once  been  in  need  and  his  friends  had  helped 
him  until  he  was  able  to  repay. 

But  I  had  never  borrowed  any  money  from  a 
man.  I  felt  insulted  when  a  man  offered  to  make 
me  a  loan.  My  friend  Clara  was  the  only  person 
from  whom  I  ever  took  money  and  that  money  was 
already  repaid. 

"After  all,  he  is  only  a  good  friend  to  me;  he  is 
so  different  from  other  men.  Why  not  accept  the 
money  for  a  time?  I  will  be  able  to  return  it  as 
I  did  Clara's,"  I  thought. 

"But  if  I  am  not  able  to  repay,  if  I  secure  a  job 
and  am  not  able  to  make  enough  to  pay  my  debt, 
what  will  I  do  then?  Remain  in  debt?  Oh,  no, 
no,  —  "I  did  not  accept  the  loan. 

Coming  home  that  night,  I  had  an  argument  with 


A  Greedy  Landlady  181 

the  mistress  of  the  house.  She  demanded  pay  for 
the  two  nights  the  boy  spent  with  us.  That  was 
the  limit  for  me.  The  boy  slept  in  our  room.  My 
brother  shared  his  bed  with  him.  Nothing  of  hers 
was  touched,  not  even  a  special  sheet,  and  she 
wanted  to  be  paid  just  because  the  room  was  in 
her  house.  Of  course,  I  refused,  for  I  had  not  the 
money  to  pay. 

"I  also  want  an  extra  quarter  for  the  additional 
gas  that  you  used  this  month.  I  think  that  I  could 
get  nine  dollars  for  two  people  in  this  room  instead 
of  eight,"  she  added. 

"Well,  all  right;  you  are  at  liberty  to  rent  this 
room  for  as  much  as  you  can  get.  We  will  move 
next  month,"  I  replied. 

I  was  provoked  at  her  greed,  but  she  was  no 
exception.  In  almost  every  house  where  I  had  had 
a  room,  except  the  cooperative  house,  the  landlady 
did  not  like  to  see  me  burn  gas  after  ten  o'clock 
in  the  evening. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

NOW  that  I  was  forced  to  move,  what  was  I  to 
do? 

Accept  the  money  or  not  accept  it?  A  job  I 
would  not  find  until  the  season  started.  It  was 
five  or  six  weeks  more  to  wait.  I  had  no  more  than 
three  dollars  to  end  the  week.  How  was  I  to  begin 
the  next  week?   How?   How? 

I  felt  that  the  nervous  strain  was  weakening  me, 
that  my  health  would  surely  break  down  if  my 
present  circumstances  did  not  change.  If  not  for 
myself,  for  my  brother  I  had  to  borrow  money, 
for  I  felt  responsible  for  his  sufferings.  Seeing  no 
other  way  of  helping  myself,  I  at  last  accepted  the 
loan,  which  was  sufficient  for  us  to  live  on,  by  being 
very  economical,  during  the  next  five  weeks.  I  de- 
cided to  move  uptown  where  rent  is  cheaper  and  the 
surrounding  air  is  purer. 

It  was  queer  how  I  began  to  avoid  meeting  Mr. 
Baroff  after  I  accepted  his  loan.  Formerly  I  had 
been  glad  to  meet  him  often,  to  have  our  talks 
which  never  ended.  Now,  I  tried  to  avoid  him, 
much  to  his  amazement.  He  did  not  know  what 
had  happened  to  me.  I  was  of  the  opinion  that 
friendship  ceases  as  soon  as  one  tries  to  profit  by 
a  friend's  kindness.   I  imagined  that  by  the  ac- 


Borrowing  Money  183 

ceptance  of  the  loan,  I  had  broken  the  bonds  of 
our  friendship  which  I  had  valued  so  much.  Oh, 
how  regretful  and  hurt  I  often  felt  when  I  thought 
of  it!  But  I  could  not  prevent  it.  I  took  the 
money;  I  had  to  accept  it  whether  it  was  right  or 
wrong. 

My  brother  could  not  stay  with  me  uptown,  for 
he  had  to  look  for  work  in  the  downtown  sections, 
so  I  found  for  him  a  place  to  board  at  three  dollars 
a  week  on  Avenue  B.  For  myself,  I  found  a  room 
on  113th  Street,  near  Central  Park,  for  five  dollars 
a  month,  which  was  as  big,  or  as  small,  as  the  room 
I  had  downtown.  For  one  person,  it  was  all  right. 
The  room,  at  least,  was  much  cleaner  and  there 
were  only  two  people  in  the  house  besides  me. 

With  money  to  live  on  for  the  next  few  weeks, 
I  tried  to  rest  and  be  comfortable.  Next  to  my 
house,  in  a  three-room  apartment,  lived  a  young 
couple,  friends  of  mine,  with  whom  I  spent  a  great 
deal  of  my  time.  The  wife  kept  house  and  took  up 
a  course  in  school-teaching,  for  she  did  not  believe 
in  a  woman's  dependence  on  her  husband,  and  she 
expected  to  become  a  school-teacher  in  order  that 
she  might  be  self-supporting.  I  have  seldom  known 
such  a  happy  family  among  the  people  I  have  met. 
The  harmony  of  ideas,  the  love  and  devotion  that 
this  couple  showed  to  each  other,  attracted  me 
greatly,  and  I  always  felt  happy  to  spend  my  time 
with  them. 


184  One  of  Them 

Attending  once  a  lecture  at  the  Francisco  Ferrer 
Centre  I  met  a  Canadian  lady  who  had  given  me 
a  few  lessons  in  English  when  I  was  in  Toronto, 
Canada.  We  were  both  surprised  to  see  each  other 
in  such  a  radical  institution  as  the  Modern  School. 
I  had  first  met  her  in  a  settlement  where  she  taught 
English  to  foreigners.  Her  appearance  and  her 
kindness  made  me  think  that  she  was  one  of  the 
missionaries  of  which  Toronto  is  so  full.  I  was 
almost  sure  that  she  was  a  missionary  until  that 
evening  when  I  met  her  at  the  Modern  School. 
She  was  very  glad  to  see  me  there,  and  badly  as  I 
spoke  even  then,  she  could  understand  me  much 
better  than  the  last  time  I  had  seen  her. 

We  became  interested  in  each  other  and  I  gladly 
accepted  her  invitation  to  dinner.  She  lived  in  a 
small  apartment  on  East  79th  Street.  The  cosy, 
neatly  furnished  rooms,  her  own  household,  seemed 
to  me  a  paradise  in  comparison  with  my  own  small 
room,  where  there  was  nothing  but  a  bed,  a  chair, 
and  a  table.  She  had  her  own  dishes,  her  own  linen, 
her  own  furniture,  everything  of  her  own.  She  did 
as  she  pleased  and  when  she  pleased,  while  I,  since 
I  had  left  my  parents  in  Russia,  had  had  almost 
nothing  of  my  own. 

"How nice  and  pleasant  it  feels  to  have  an  apart- 
ment of  your  own  with  everything  to  please  one's 
self,"  I  thought.  "But  as  girls  in  my  circumstances 
can  get  their  own  apartment  only  as  an  appendage 


A  Friendship  Renewed  185 

to  a  husband,  and  as  some  of  us  do  not  want  or 
cannot  get  one,  they  consequently  cannot  have  an 
apartment  for  themselves." 

After  dinner  we  began  to  tell  each  other  about 
our  lives.  I  told  her  all  about  myself  since  I  left 
Toronto  and  she  told  me  her  experiences.  She  was 
very  much  interested  in  the  labor  movement.  In 
1913,  when  the  general  strike  broke  out  in  the 
needle  trade,  she  came  over  from  Toronto  and 
helped  organize  the  wrapper  and  kimono  workers. 
When  the  strike  was  over,  she  was  very  weak  and 
took  a  trip  to  England.  Now  she  was  back  again 
working  for  the  suffrage  movement. 

Before  I  left  she  asked  me  to  come  to  visit  her 
often.   I  promised  to  do  so. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN  the  middle  of  January  I  at  last  found  a  job 
in  a  union  shop  of  about  two  hundred  workers. 
The  chairlady  was  a  very  gentle,  sympathetic  per- 
son. She  had  worked  in  that  shop  for  two  years  and 
was  popular  with  the  workers,  but  there  was  one 
fault  with  her:  she  was  too  autocratic  in  her  ac- 
tions. Among  the  hundred  and  fifty  girls  there 
were  about  fifteen  or  twenty  intelligent,  active 
union  members  who  were  interested  in  the  good 
and  welfare  of  the  shop.  But  she  would  consult  no 
one  about  the  shop  business;  she  asked  no  one's 
opinion  and  did  everything  according  to  her  own 
judgment.  With  the  best  intentions  she  could  not 
take  care  of  so  many  people,  when,  besides  rep- 
resenting the  workers,  she  had  to  earn  her  living. 
The  boss  selected  a  few  favorites  to  whom  he  gave 
the  best  and  most  work,  thus  securing  them  as  his 
supporters.  It  is  quite  customary  for  every  em- 
ployer, whether  good  or  bad,  to  have  some  favor- 
,  ites  in  the  shop  whom  he  uses  against  their  fellow- 
workers.  If  any  dispute  arises  in  the  shop,  they 
are  always  on  the  side  of  the  boss.  He  also  supplied 
the  chairlady  with  a  better  share  of  the  work  so  as 
to  distract  her  attention  from  the  unequal  division 
of  work.   The  chairlady  in  her  anxiety  to  make  up 


A  Union  Shop  187 

for  lost  time  accepted  the  larger  portion  of  work, 
but  failed  to  see  how  displeasing  it  was  to  the  other 
workers,  arousing  their  jealousy  and  often  distrust 
toward  her. 

Another  and  very  important  thing  neglected 
was  organizing  the  workers  as  true,  conscious  union 
members.  The  understanding  of  unionism  by  most 
of  the  girls  was  limited  to  paying  dues,  which  often 
they  tried  to  avoid;  also  not  scabbing  in  time  of  a 
strike.  They  needed  to  be  educated  and  enlightened 
as  to  the  cause  of  unity.  If  the  chairlady  had  only 
been  willing  to  cooperate  with  the  few  active  girls 
in  the  shop,  this  might  have  been  accomplished; 
alone  she  worked  very  hard  and  could  not  attend 
to  everything. 

On  the  whole,  it  was  a  good  shop.  Despite  its 
many  faults  it  was  much  better  than  the  many 
other  shops  where  I  worked  before  and  after.  It 
was  very  busy,  the  styles  were  simple  that  season, 
the  prices  fair,  and  the  workers  earned  fair  wages. 

I  felt  pleased  to  find  a  shop  with  an  intelligent 
chairlady.  I  was  tired  out;  I  longed  for  a  place 
where  I  could  work  uninterruptedly,  at  least  for 
a  season,  and  pay  off  my  debt.  In  this  new  shop 
of  mine  my  union  activity  was  not  essential,  so  I 
could  sit  quietly  and  work.  And  I  was  quiet. 
Among  the  many  girls  I  was  noticed  very  little. 
The  fourth  week  my  eyes  began  to  bother  me  a 
great  deal.   My  machine  happened  to  be  in  a  very 


si 


188  One  of  Them 

dark  corner,  and  I  had  to  work  by  gas-light  all  day. 
My  eyes  first  became  impaired  in  that  historic 
association  shop  which  I  tried  to  organize.  Now, 
as  soon  as  I  worked  by  gas-light,  my  eyes  would 
become  inflamed  and  cause  me  headaches.  I  asked 
the  boss  to  allow  me  to  change  my  machine.  He 
had  two  empty  machines  in  front  near  the  windows 
—  but  he  refused.  Why  did  he  refuse?  What  dif- 
ference would  it  make  to  him  if  he  had  given  me  the 
empty  machine  near  the  window?  I  did  not  know. 
My  eyes  became  worse  from  day  to  day.  My 
headaches  were  more  frequent,  causing  me  heavy 
nightmares  night  after  night.  One  evening  at 
home  I  was  terrified  when  I  saw  my  eyes  in  the 
mirror  —  they  were  bloodshot.  Visions  of  blindness 
rowded  my  mind. 

"Goodness!"  I  cried  in  fear.  "Better  dead  than 
sightless!"  I  lay  in  bed,  my  imagination  picturing 
the  horror  of  blindness.  I  closed  my  smarting  eye- 
lids, and  in  the  darkness  I  began  to  ponder,  climb- 
ing high,  high  over  something  smooth,  but  sud- 
denly fell  back.  What  was  it?  I  wanted  to  open 
my  eyes,  but  I  could  not,  I  could  not  separate  my 
eyelids.  I  was  blind,  blind  already,  and  from  all 
around  pitiful  voices  sounded:  "Make  way  for  her, 
make  way  for  the  poor  cripple."  They  all  pitied  me, 
they  took  care  of  me,  but  I  was  too  heavy  a  burden, 
and  finally  they  left  me  alone.  And  in  this  f orever- 
dark-to-me  world,  I  am  groping  my  way,  singing 


A  Dream  of  Blindness  189 

and  begging  —  pennies  flying  into  my  outstretched 
hands.  My  former  bosses  meet  me,  they  laugh, 
they  scoff  with  revenge,  and  with  a  sneer  wave  their 
hand. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  that  is  what  you  get  for  your  union 
and  your  foolish  sentimentality  for  your  fellow- 
workers." 

"You  made  me  go  out  of  business  when  I  was 
so  kind  and  gave  you  all  chances  for  your  future 
advancement.  I  wanted  to  give  you  two  helpers 
through  whom  you  could  make  money  besides  your 
earnings,  —  and  I  wanted  to  make  you  my  fore- 
lady." 

"And  I  —  I —  Don't  you  remember  me? 
Don't  you  remember  that  Saturday  when  we  were 
alone  in  the  office  and  you  ran  away  leaving  your 
pay  in  my  hands?  Ha!  ha!  ha!  will  you  run  away 
now?  Can  you  see  where?  You  may  meet  some 
one  worse  than  I.  Ha!  ha!  ha! — come  over  here. 
Sing  for  me,  —  no,  dance  for  me,  —  show  your 
grace  now.  Come  on  —  a  nickel  a  dance.  Dance 
before  me  as  Salome  before  Herod  the  king.  Ha! 
ha!  ha!" 

I  was  driven  to  dance,  was  made  a  laughing- 
stock. "Livelier!  Livelier!"  they  shouted  from  all 
around.  And  livelier  I  danced,  I  sang,  I  jumped, 
until  my  head  felt  giddy,  my  senses  began  to  twirl, 
my  strength  failed  me,  and  I  dropped  down.  I 
screamed  and  —  awoke  on  the  floor. 


190  One  of  Them 

In  the  silent  darkness  the  shadows  of  that  sense- 
less, mad  dream  boldly  stood  out,  growing  longer 
and  longer,  but  I  was  not  blind.  I  saw  all,  I  saw 
everything  in  its  ugly  vividness.  Each  ticlc-tock  of 
the  clock  made  me  thrill  with  terror.  Each  hour 
lengthened  itself  out  like  a  century.  Would  the 
morning  never  come?  It  seemed  as  if  there  was  no 
end  to  that  frightful  night. 

In  the  morning,  instead  of  going  to  work,  I  went 
to  look  for  another  job.  I  valued  my  eyesight  too 
much  to  risk  it  further,  and  I  found  a  place  with 
enough  daylight. 

It  was  an  association  shop.  The  firm  manu- 
factured a  common  line  of  cotton  dresses.  Work- 
ers were  hired  by  the  week.  Our  union  had  no  mini- 
mum wage  for  week  operators,  for  it  demanded  the 
piece-work  system.  The  association  was  supposed 
to  enforce  that  system  in  all  its  shops,  but  many 
manufacturers  did  not  carry  out  the  demand,  giv- 
ing different  reasons  for  their  failure  to  do  so.  While 
the  piece-price  in  a  union  shop  was  fixed  by  the 
workers  and  the  boss,  the  weekly  price  was  always 
fixed  by  either  the  foreman  or  boss.  It  was  up  to 
the  workers  to  remain  for  the  price  offered  or  to 
look  for  a  better  job.  Workers  were  often  very 
much  wronged  by  the  week-work  system. 

When  I  asked  for  my  price,  in  a  few  days,  I  was 
offered  nine  dollars.   That  sounded  like  a  joke. 

I  showed  the  foreman  my  pay  envelope  from 


A  Machine  by  a  Window  191 

the  previous  week's  earnings,  which  amounted  to 
$15.45. 

"Why  did  you  leave  that  job?" 

"Because  my  machine  was  in  a  dark  place  and 
the  artificial  light  had  hurt  my  eyes. " 

"Well,  in  here  you  have  a  good  light  place;  is  it 
not  worth  while  to  stay  here  for  less?" 

"For  less,  but  not  for  so  much  less.  Must  I  pay 
you  six  dollars  a  week  just  for  getting  a  machine 
in  a  light  place?"  I  asked  angrily. 

"My  dear  little  girl,  who  says  you  must?  No- 
body is  keeping  you  here." 

I  left  that  place.  I  would  not  work  for  nine 
dollars  when  I  knew  I  was  worth  fifteen. 

As  I  had  left  some  unfinished  work  in  my  old 
shop,  I  returned  to  finish  and  get  my  pay.  The 
forelady  was  glad  to  see  me  back. 

"I  hope  you  do  not  desert  us  any  more,"  she 
said,  as  she  gave  me  my  bundle. 

"I  will  not,  if  I  get  a  machine  by  the  window," 
I  answered,  explaining  why  I  had  left  the  shop. 

Through  her  and  also  through  help  of  the  chair- 
lady  I  got  a  machine  near  the  window,  hoping  that 
nothing  else  would  happen,  for  I  liked  that  shop. 

Had  my  brother  found  work  I  could  have  allowed 
myself  to  live  a  little  better,  for  in  comparison  with 
my  former  earnings  I  made  more  now.  But  to  sup- 
port my  brother  and  pay  my  debts  I  had  not 
enough  for  myself.   I  heard  that  the  seasons  in  my 


192  One  of  Them 

shop  are  always  short,  and  if  I  had  not  any  money 
saved  up  for  the  dull  season  I  should  have  to  live 
through  the  same  life  as  in  the  former  slack  seasons. 
I  shuddered  at  those  thoughts.  I  had  lived  through 
three  horrid  dull  seasons  and  I  felt  that  physically 
I  could  not  endure  any  further  strain. 

My  brother  worried  me  terribly.  Not  being  able 
to  find  work,  he  was  much  discouraged  and  would 
always  walk  around  downcast.  Tears  were  always 
in  his  eyes  when  I  brought  him  money  to  pay  up  his 
board.  "To  think  that  such  a  delicate  girl  as  you 
should  have  to  work  so  hard  to  support  me  —  such 
a  strong  big  boy  with  iron  muscles  as  mine  are!" 
he  would  often  say.  I  could  do  naught  but  com- 
fort him. 

Once  when  I  came  to  visit  him  (I  visited  him 
twice  a  week)  I  found  him  in  bed  with  a  terrible 
toothache.    In  vain  did  he  try  to  hide  his  agonies. 

"It  is  nothing,  sister,  it  will  pass  soon,  it's  only 
a  light  toothache."  He  tried  to  comfort  me,  setting 
his  teeth  together  from  pain. 

"Will  you  go  over  to  the  dentist?"  I  asked  him. 

"Oh,  no,  no!  I  do  not  need  any  dentist,  I  assure 

you." 

His  head  was  warm,  his  eyes  burned  with  fever. 
He  must  have  caught  a  cold.  He  broke  my  heart 
as  I  looked  at  him.  "What  if  he  gets  sick!"  I  was 
thrilled  by  that  thought.  "Oh,  no,  he  would  not, 
he  must  not!" 


Two  Pairs  of  Shoes  193 

Sitting  at  his  bedside  my  eyes  were  fixed  at  the 
floor.  I  noticed  his  shoes.  I  picked  them  up.  Both 
soles  were  rubbed  out  and  wide  open.  He  did  not 
dare  to  ask  me  for  extra  money  to  have  his  shoes 
repaired.  "  My  fault,  my  fault !  How  did  I  neglect 
to  ask  him  if  his  shoes  were  in  order?  Now  if  he 
gets  sick,  it  is  mine  whose  fault  it'll  be!" 

I  took  his  shoes  and  immediately  went  down  to 
have  them  repaired. 

When  I  came  up  again  he  asked  me  smilingly, 
"Will  you  be  so  nice  and  show  me  your  shoes;  are 
they  in  perfect  order?" 

"Why,  sure  they  are,"  I  answered,  raising  my 
foot  to  show  them  to  him,  when  I  first  learned  that 
mine  were  also  open.  How  I  walked  around  not 
knowing  that  my  shoe-soles  were  open,  I  do  not 
know.  "  I  intend  to  buy  new  ones,  so  that  I  thought 
they  were  not  worth  while  fixing,"  I  stammered. 

Indeed,  it  was  not  worth  while  fixing  it,  the 
shoemaker  told  me  when  I  brought  it  down  to  him 
next  Sunday  to  be  repaired.  (I  could  not  spare  my 
shoes  in  the  middle  of  the  week.)  So  for  a  long 
time  I  wore  a  pair  of  old  rubbers  to  cover  my  soles. 
In  wet  or  dry  weather  I  always  had  them  on. 

At  home  that  evening  I  sank  in  thoughts  of 
myself.  Two  years  in  America!  Two  years  in  the 
golden  country!  What  had  I  accomplished?  —  a 
weak  stomach,  headaches  every  other  day,  a  pale 
face,  inflamed  eyes,  and  my  nose  —  my  nose  also 


194  One  of  Them 

began  to  complain.  It  wanted  a  doctor  and  I 
could  not  afford  to  pay  for  one.  To  a  dispensary 
I  had  no  time  to  go  and  I  would  not,  even  if  I  had 
time.  One  dollar  made  a  world  of  differences.  For 
a  dollar  the  doctor  would  gently  open  the  door  for 
the  patient,  would  offer  a  thousand  smiles,  take  his 
time,  and  examine  the  patient  thoroughly.  In  the 
dispensary  sometimes  one  had  to  waste  all  day  to 
get  his  turn,  and  when  at  last  the  chance  came, 
the  patient  would  be  treated  so  gruffly  he  would 
feel  as  though  he  had  not  come  to  the  doctor  for 
advice  but  to  spoil  his  good  moods. 

If  my  mother  could  only  know,  if  she  could  only 
know!  But  never  should  she  know!  It  is  enough 
for  her,  when  she  had  to  part  with  us.  As  she  wrote 
once  to  me:  "Another  child  gone,  another  wound 
in  mother's  heart !  Oh,  where  are  my  children,  my 
little  birds?  Was  mother's  nest  too  small  for  them? 
Oh,  if  only  I  were  a  free  bird  now,  if  only  I  had 
wings.  I  would  fly,  fly,  through  night  and  day, 
through  storm  and  sunshine,  through  oceans  and 
forests  only  to  have  a  look  at  you,  my  children, 
who  left  mother  to  find  a  better  life,  to  build  better 
nests.  For  so  many  years  I  struggled.  In  the  long, 
cold,  stormy  winter  nights,  I  watched  over  you, 
cherished  you.  With  my  tears  and  prayers  to  God 
I  obtained  your  lives  when  death  stood  many  a  time 
at  your  bedside,  waiting  for  mother  to  give  you  up. 
Never  did  I  give  you  up.   You  were  my  pride,  you 


My  Mother's  Letter  195 

were  my  light  in  the  dark  life  of  my  struggle  against 
poverty.  And  you  gave  up  mother  so  easily!  You 
left  your  home  with  no  regret!  You  left  your 
mother  to  her  tears!  Oh,  where  are  you  now?  Are 
you  happy,  are  you  warm,  are  you  fed?  If  I  could 
only  embrace  you  once  more,  feel  you  near  my 
wounded  heart !  Other  people  have  the  pleasure  to 
hear  you  talk,  to  hear  you  laugh,  to  hear  you  sing !  Are 
you  still  singing,  my  little  daughter,  or  is  your  voice 
forgotten  under  the  heavy  burden  of  the  new  life?" 
That  letter  made  me  hysterical  for  a  few  hours 
when  I  received  it,  and  long  afterwards,  whenever 
I  re-read  it,  I  could  not  keep  from  crying.  There  is 
so  much  tragedy  in  each  word  of  that  letter.  The 
tragedy  of  all  the  Jewish  mothers  whose  children 
escape  from  where  they  suffer,  from  Russian  bru- 
tality, from  Galician  poverty.  Youth  does  not  want 
to  bow  its  head  as  its  parents  did,  nor  stand  for  so 
much  misery  —  oh,  so  much !  Youth  wants  life, 
happiness.  In  the  hunt  for  a  better,  freer  life, 
Youth  parts  with  its  dear  parents :  parts  full  of  hope 
to  be  reunited  in  a  better  land,  in  better  circum- 
stances. But  more  often  the  hopes  are  crushed,  the 
lives  are  broken.  Not  all  are  able  to  reunite,  and 
they  remain  parted  far,  far  away  from  one  another. 
The  eternal  anxiety  for  one  another  tears  the  heart 
and  soul  to  pieces.  Neither  the  children  in  America 
nor  their  parents  abroad  can  ever  be  happy  when 
they  are  torn  apart. 


196  One  of  Them 

"Never  should  she  know!"  I  repeated  to  myself, 
and  to  comfort  her  I  immediately  sat  down  to  write 
a  letter:  — 

"Much  beloved  Mother:  —  To  begin  with  I  want 
to  inform  you  that  I  am  in  perfect  health  and  happi- 
ness, wishing  to  hear  the  same  from  you." 

Here  I  stopped.  "Wishing  to  hear  the  same 
from  you ! "  Alas,  I  surely  do  not  wish  to  curse  my 
mother!  I  tore  up  the  letter.  But  what  shall  I  tell 
her?  What  shall  I  write  to  her  about?  I  took 
another  sheet. 

"My  best  of  best  Mothers:  —  With  delight  I  read 
your  last  letter.  I  was  so  happy  to  learn  that 
everything  at  home  is  in  order.  Please,  mother, 
don't  cry.  It  worries  me  terribly.  We  are  not  dead, 
we  are  alive.  We'll  try  our  very  best  to  have  you 
all  with  us  in  the  nearest  future.  Oh,  how  happy 
I  shall  be  when  I  have  you  all  with  us !  Sorrow  will 
be  forgotten  and  the  guardian  angels  will  spread 
their  wings  over  us  and  watch  our  happiness,  and 
never,  never  again  will  we  part!  Tell  the  children 
that  I  will  answer  their  letters  some  other  time. 
Nathan's  poem,  which  he  dedicated  to  me,  is  very 
hearty,  but  I  don't  like  his  grammar  in  it.  This 
was  always  his  weak  point.  Tell  him  to  pay  more 
attention  to  the  Russian  grammar.  You  know, 
mother,  I  do  think  that  he  is  an  able  little  fellow. 


The  Answer  197 

He  is  only  sixteen  now,  and  if  he  has  good  oppor- 
tunities he  will  be  successful. 

"With  pride  you  tell  me,  mother,  that  little  Eva 
is  my  double  —  that  physically  and  mentally  she 
resembles  me.  I  want  to  hope  that  she  should  be 
much  better  than  I  am  and  more  successful.  How 
is  Sarah?  Is  she  diligent  in  her  studies?  Is  Dora 
stronger  now  than  she  was?  Have  you  any  letters 
from  Israel,  or  does  he  write  only  when  he  needs 
money?  Poor  fellow,  two  more  years  he  must  spend 
in  the  military  service.1 

"Please,  mother,  send  me  his  address.  I  want  to 
write  a  letter  to  him.  About  us  you  should  not 
worry.   We  are  all  right. 

"My  best  regards  to  all  the  children  and  father, 
—  to  him  I  will  write  to-morrow.  I  have  so  much 
to  tell  him!  Our  discussions  by  correspondence 
were  stopped  for  quite  a  long  time,  and  I  want  to 
begin  again.  Is  he  still  working  so  hard?  Mother 
dear,  take  care  of  yourself,  father  and  the  children. 
"With  love  for  everybody, 

"Lisa." 

I  was  up  very  early  the  next  morning.  After 
having  my  light  breakfast,  which  always  consisted 
of  a  glass  of  milk,  I  went  to  work.   It  was  too  early 

1  He  is  compelled  to  serve  a  country  which  deprived  him  of  all 
possible  liberty,  of  human  rights.  At  present,  when  I  write  these 
lines,  he  is  back  home  with  a  wounded  leg. 


198  One  of  Them 

to  go  to  the  shop,  so  I  turned  in  to  the  park  for 
a  short  while.  With  deep,  hungry  breath  I  drank 
the  frozen  air  which  was  so  refreshing. 

I  watched  the  little  frozen  lake  surrounded  by- 
naked  trees  covered  with  sleet,  and  it  seemed  to 
remind  me  of  homeless,  poorly  clad,  lonely  old 
women  shivering  with  cold. 

The  high  rocks  majestically  stood  out  of  the 
white  snow  that  covered  the  ground.  For  a  while 
there  came  back  to  me  those  bygone  days  when  as 
children  we  would  steal  out  from  the  classroom 
and  run  off  to  turn  somersaults  and  stretch  on  the 
snow,  making  human-like  figures;  how  often  would 
we  skate  and  play  with  snowballs  late  into  the  eve- 
ning, returning  home  with  glowing  faces!  Happy 
but  exhausted  we  would  fall  on  our  beds,  and  with 
our  clothes  on  sleep  the  night  right  through.  Even 
in  the  later  years,  when  the  happy  carelessness  was 
gone  with  our  childhood,  when  life  made  us  more 
thoughtful  —  even  then  the  winter  had  its  charms 
for  us.  We  would  go  off  in  groups,  exploring  the 
snow-clad  woods  and  groves,  enjoying  the  frosty 
but  romantic  moonlight.  Here  this  picturesque 
park  was  deserted.  Hundreds  of  people  were  pass- 
ing by,  and  what  a  pity  they  paid  no  attention  to 
it  —  they  hurried  anxiously  to  the  near-by  subway 
for  an  earlier  train,  to  be  in  time  for  work. 

In  this  hurry-up,  made  world,  they  had  no  time 
to  look  around  them  —  in  this  world  of  efficiency 


New  York  Subways  199 

they  were  blinded  to  all  natural  beauty.  In  this 
world  of  freedom  they  were  made  to  work  only  - 
work  or  starve,  nay,  work  and  starve.  Human 
beings  were  turned  into  machine  value,  their 
strength  was  turned  into  dollars.  This  new  world 
full  of  riches  turned  life  into  gray  prose,  made 
people  a  slave  to  the  dollar  —  even  art  seems  to 
be  measured  in  the  terms  of  money. 

A  chill  ran  through  my  body.  Was  it  the  reali- 
zation of  such  a  world,  or  was  I  so  meagrely  clad 
for  such  a  frosty  morning  —  I  was  recalled  to  my 
duties  —  to  work,  work  and  turn  my  work  into 
dollars. 

At  half -past  seven  I  took  the  subway  train  down- 
town. The  trains  in  the  mornings  and  evenings 
were  over-packed.  The  people  were  pressed  to- 
gether like  sardines  in  a  tin  box.  It  was  very  hard 
to  breathe.  I  always  tried  to  stand  close  to  the  door 
with  my  face  turned  away  from  people,  for  the 
worst  kinds  of  diseases  could  easily  be  contracted,  be- 
ing so  close  to  other  people's  breathing.  Girls  some- 
times fainted  in  those  crowded  cars  from  the  thick 
air.  I  always  got  headaches  travelling  in  the  sub- 
ways. In  Russia  no  more  passengers  than  seats 
are  allowed.  Here  in  free  America  the  people  are 
free  to  choke  themselves  with  the  suffocating  sub- 
way air.  They  are  thrown  together  like  cattle  and 
carried  down  to  the  industrial  market.  From  the 
people's  nickels  the  company's  millions  grow  like 


200  One  of  Them 

weeds,  and  they  could  have  enough  cars  to  prevent 
such  dangerous  crowding,  if  only  they  cared  enough 
for  public  welfare. 

I  was  the  first  one  in  the  shop  that  morning.  The 
workers  usually  filled  up  the  place  between  a  quar- 
ter after  eight  and  nine  o'clock.  With  great  dili- 
gence I  began  to  work.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  have 
work  enough  for  day  and  evening!  I  would  willingly 
work  evenings,  too,  could  I  only  get  the  work.  I  had 
to  earn  enough  for  myself,  for  doctor's  bills;  I  had 
to  save  up  some  money  in  order  to  bring  my  par- 
ents over  here.  Perhaps  if  we  could  be  together, 
we  would  not  suffer  so  much.  If  we  —  the  older 
children  —  could  not  succeed,  we  could  at  least  try 
for  the  younger  ones  —  we  could  help  them  so  as 
to  keep  them  out  of  the  miserable  factory  life. 

How  I  liked  the  work  that  day!  I  was  thankful 
to  the  boss,  to  the  forelady,  even  to  the  girl  who 
gave  out  the  work.  My  work  as  if  by  magic  went 
through  my  hands.  I  completed  bundle  after  bun- 
dle without  any  interruption.  For  lunch  I  only 
spent  ten  cents  instead  of  my  regular  fifteen  cents. 
I  wanted  to  save  from  whatever  I  could.  For  the 
first  time  I  made  four  dollars  and  fifty  cents  in  that 
day,  but  it  was  also  the  last,  for  I  never  made  that 
much  in  the  shop  again.  I  was  so  happy.  "What  if 
I  would  make  four  dollars  and  a  half  every  day!" 
I  began  to  calculate  —  that  would  make  twenty- 
four  dollars  a  week.   "Oh,  it  would  be  a  fortune!" 


Shop  Conditions  in  1913-14        201 

thought  I,  forgetting  to  think  of  my  delicate  health 
that  did  not  even  stand  for  one  day  of  such  hard 
work.  I  did  not  belong  to  the  very  quick  workers. 
I  was  one  of  the  average,  and  the  highest  I  ever 
made  in  a  week  was  eighteen  dollars.  After  that 
day's  work  I  had  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the  or- 
ganization committee  of  our  union.  I  was  a  member 
of  the  organization  committee  and  helped  in  organ- 
izing the  non-union  shops. 

During  the  year  1913-14  a  number  of  manufac- 
turers broke  away  from  the  Manufacturers'  Associ- 
ation and  restored  their  shops  to  the  former  con- 
ditions. It  only  happened  in  those  shops  where  the 
people  were  badly  unionized.  They  were  weaklings, 
and  the  bosses  saw  their  chances  to  break  with  the 
union  in  order  to  have  their  own  wrays  with  the 
workers.  Those  open  shops  began  to  increase  and 
some  of  the  workers  who  protested  against  break- 
ing with  the  union,  were  thrown  out  of  the  shops. 
The  same  happened  with  some  non-protocol  union 
shops.  The  organization  committee  —  consisting 
of  an  organizer,  a  few  executive  board  members, 
and  members  of  our  union  —  tried  to  get  those 
shops  unionized  again,  for  we  saw  great  danger  if 
we  let  those  open  shops  exist.  Without  the  control 
of  the  union  the  standards  would  become  lower  and 
lower,  and  the  low  standards  in  the  open  shops 
would  certainly  injure  the  higher  standards  in  the 
union  shops. 


202  One  of  Them 

We  were  divided  into  committees  of  two  or  three 
members,  and  each  committee  was  assigned  every 
other  day  to  a  shop.  In  the  morning  between  seven 
and  eight  and  in  the  evening  between  five-thirty 
and  six-thirty,  we  would  come  over  to  the  door  of 
the  open  shop  and  distribute  circulars.  The  circu- 
lars were  printed  in  Yiddish,  English,  and  Italian, 
with  an  appeal  to  the  people  to  get  organized.  But 
we  made  very  slow  progress,  for  only  a  small  num- 
ber of  our  union  members  were  willing  to  give  their 
time  and  energy  for  organization  work.  We  needed 
many  people  to  do  the  work  and  did  not  get  them. 

I  was  assigned  to  go  out  early  next  morning  with 
some  circulars.  From  the  meeting  I  ran  over  to  see 
my  brother.  He  felt  a  little  better.  I  came  home  at 
eleven  in  the  evening.  I  felt  very  tired  and  sleepy. 
Being  afraid  to  eat  before  bedtime,  I  went  to  sleep 
without  my  supper.  In  the  morning  I  could  hardly 
get  up.  I  must  have  exhausted  myself  too  much 
the  day  before.  With  great  effort  I  dressed  myself 
and  went  downtown  with  the  circulars.  It  was  an 
extremely  cold  day  and  I  stood  outside  for  an  hour 
distributing  the  circulars  and  trying  to  speak  to  the 
people  —  to  appeal  to  them.  My  thin  short  coat 
and  my  torn  shoes  were  of  very  little  protection 
against  the  frost.  I  stood  freezing  patiently.  When 
I  went  to  work  at  half -past  eight  I  nearly  fainted 
from  weakness,  and  before  long  my  strength  failed 
me  and  I  had  to  go  home  and  rest.  So  for  making 


A  Life  Full  of  Emptiness  !  203 

four  and  a  half  dollars  in  one  day  I  had  to  pay  with 
another  day.  I  lay  in  bed  blaming  myself  for  my 
weakness.  Alas,  I  can't  afford  to  be  sick  in  the 
height  of  the  season.  But  in  order  to  keep  up  my 
health,  I  realized  that  I  must  feed  myself  better, 
have  warm  clothes,  and  enough  sleep.  But  how  am 
I  to  get  enough  money  for  all  that?  Oh,  that  money 
problem!  How  much  longer  will  that  occupy  my 
mind?  How  much  longer  will  that  last?  I'm  so  sick 
of  it !  Work,  work !  Struggle,  struggle !  and  not  even 
enough  from  hand  to  mouth !  No  time  for  reading, 
no  money  for  recreation !  Nothing  but  work,  worry, 
worry  and  work.  How  shall  I  get  rid  of  the  shop  — 
that  free  prison?  I  shall  be  choked  by  its  surround- 
ings if  I  stay  there  any  longer.  I  can't,  I  can't  bear 
a  life  full  of  emptiness !  How  happy  are  those  who 
can  fight  patiently !  My  patience  is  broken !  With 
my  body  and  soul  I  protest  against  such  a  life !  And 
I  can  do  nothing  to  change  it.  How  weak  I 
How  shamefully  weak! 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FROM  that  day  on  I  ceased  to  do  my  work  reg- 
ularly. My  headaches  and  depressed  moods 
would  keep  me  in  bed  too  often.  I  would  come  into 
the  shop  at  ten  in  the  mornings,  sometimes  stop  in 
the  afternoon,  or  leave  the  shop  at  five  o'clock  in- 
stead of  six.  I  very  seldom  put  in  a  full  day's  work. 
The  boss  was  very  much  displeased  to  see  me  com- 
ing at  such  irregular  hours.  He  warned  me  he  would 
send  me  away  if  I  did  not  come  in  time,  for  he  could 
not  afford  to  keep  a  machine  waiting  for  me  even 
for  a  few  hours.  I  knew  he  would  do  it  and  tried  to 
come  in  time,  but  I  worked  very  slowly.  I  would 
sometimes  take  a  bundle  of  work,  and  taking  it 
apart  never  see  or  realize  what  I  was  doing;  the 
different  parts  of  the  work  would  mingle  before  my 
eyes  and  it  would  take  me  a  long  time  to  distinguish 
one  part  from  the  other.  The  forelady  would  often 
ask  —  "Hundred  and  twelve ,  what  happened  to 
you?"  (We  were  called  by  numbers  in  most  of  the 
shops.)  "  You  are  giving  out  too  little  work  lately." 
I  tried  my  best,  but  could  not  help  being  slow.  My 
mind  was  upset,  and  very  often,  when  I  tried  to 
absorb  myself  in  the  work,  and  press  the  foot  of  my 
machine  to  make  it  run  faster,  I  would  not  notice 
that  my  foot  had  stopped  pressing  and  the  machine 


Plans  and  Obstacles  205 

was  not  going  until  a  neighbor  would  awake  me 
with  a  joke.  "How  do  the  people  look  like  on 
Mars?"  I  would  then  shake  myself  and  resume 
work. 

In  my  depression  I  sought  quietness  and  would 
spend  the  most  of  my  time  alone  in  my  little  room. 

My  new  friend  Alice  was  the  only  one  whom  I 
visited  frequently.  With  her  I  often  discussed  my 
situation.  She  agreed  that  I  must  leave  the  shop, 
for  it  was  no  place  for  me.  The  shop  under  the 
present  conditions  is  good  for  no  human  being  to 
work  in.  She  also  agreed  that  I  must  study  English, 
before  I  could  do  anything  else. 

Her  desire  was  for  me  to  become  a  labor  organ- 
izer. Myself,  I  was  very  enthusiastic  for  organiz- 
ing work,  but  I  feared  that  I  could  never  make  a 
good  speaker,  which  I  thought  was  necessary  for  an 
organizer. 

tree  as  I  felt  when  I  spoke  at  shop  meetings,  or 
among  the  girls  at  work,  I  would  not  feel  free  on  the 
public  platform.  It  was  hard  to  decide.  The  first 
thing  to  do  was  to  conquer  the  language,  then  study 
the  labor  questions,  the  social  evils  of  the  present 
and  past  centuries,  before  I  had  a  right  to  think 
of  becoming  an  organizer.  But  how  was  I  to  study? 
I  was  so  tired  after  a  day's  work  that  my  brain  was 
too  dull  for  study.  And  my  eyes,  once  affected, 
could  not  stand  any  strain  in  the  evening. 

I  saw  no  hope.   One  monotonous  day  followed 


206  One  of  Them 

another.  The  same  dull  mornings,  hurry  to  the 
shop,  —  the  same  dangerously  crowded  cars,  the 
same  people  in  the  shop,  —  the  same  machine, 
everything  the  same  day  after  day.  Oh,  how  sick- 
ening, how  hateful ! 

My  brother  also  became  nervous.  He  was  much 
discouraged  from  walking  around  in  the  streets  day 
in,  day  out,  looking  for  work.  When  at  last  he 
found  one  job  he  left  it  in  two  days.  I  remember  in 
what  angry  excitement  I  found  him  when  I  re- 
turned from  work. 

"What  happened?"  I  asked. 

"I  left  my  position.  The  boss  wanted  me  to 
make  a  bum  job  and  I  refused.  This  morning  when 
I  was  sent  to  fix  a  pipe  in  a  cellar,  the  boss  told  me 
to  be  ready  with  it  in  half  an  hour.  When  I  was  on 
the  job  I  found  that  the  alteration  needed  at  least 
an  hour's  time  or  else  the  pipe  would  burst  again  in 
a  few  days.  The  woman  complained  to  me  that  she 
had  had  the  pipe  fixed  two  or  three  times  during 
the  last  month  and  that  it  burst  again  soon  after  it 
was  fixed.  I  promised  her  to  make  a  good  job. 
While  I  was  working,  the  boss  came  in. 

" '  What  is  it  you  are  doing  in  here  so  long? '  he 
asked  me. 

"  'This  pipe  needs  to  be  cleaned  thoroughly  before 
we  put  the  zinc  in,  or  it'll  burst,'  I  answered. 

M *  Fool  that  you  are !  You  don't  mean  to  fix  the 
pipe  so  it  should  keep  for  a  year,  do  you?   If  you 


A  Quarrel  207 

make  such  jobs  everywhere,  the  pipes  would  never 
break.  Do  you  expect  to  make  business  that  way? 
Fine  business  man!  Come  on,  finish  it  up.' 

"I  protested.  'Mr.  Boss,'  I  said,  'you  are  paid 
to  make  a  good  job,  not  to  spoil  it.' 

"'None  of  your  business  what  I'm  paid  for;  do 
as  I  tell  you  or  go  where  you  came  from ! ' 

"  So  I  went  where  I  came  from.  Would  you  ex- 
pect me  to  do  otherwise?" 

I  was  silent  for  a  moment,  thinking  what  to  an- 
swer him.  Was  he  right  or  wrong?  Surely  he  was 
right,  but  where  could  he  find  a  boss  who  does  not 
do  "business"? 

"  You  know,  Sam,"  I  said,  "you  are  not  working  for 
almost  six  months.  You  must  at  last  find  a  job  — " 

He  did  not  let  me  finish. 

"You,  whom  I  always  thought  the  most  ideal 
girl,  should  speak  that  way!" 

"No,  I  mean  that  you  must  do  it  until  you  are 
able  to  stand  on  your  own  feet,  and  do  as  you  like 
—  that  is,  until  you  are  able  to  work  for  yourself, 
not  for  the  boss!" 

He  misunderstood  me. 

"I  know  what  you  mean.  You  are  tired  of  giving 
me  the  four  dollars  a  week.  I  don't  need  them!  I 
don't  need  them!  Never  again  will  I  take  your 
money,  you  can  keep  it  for  yourself!"  he  cried  out 
in  anger  and  left  the  room. 

It  was  the  second  time  since  he  came  that  we  had 


208  One  of  Them 

quarrelled.  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  him.  He  misun- 
derstood me  when  I  only  wanted  to  advise  him. 
But  was  not  I  a  little  too  hard  to  him?  The  poor 
boy  thought  I  was  tired  of  him.  How  would  I  feel 
in  his  position?  Tears  of  regret  began  to  flow  from 
my  eyes.  Oh,  miserable,  miserable  life,  when  will 
all  that  end !  For  a  whole  week  my  brother  did  not 
speak  to  me,  neither  did  he  accept  my  money.  At 
last,  through  the  aid  of  a  girl  friend  who  worked 
in  the  same  shop  with  me,  I  made  him  come  back 
to  me.  After  a  long  talk  with  him  I  decided  to 
send  him  away  to  Toronto,  Canada,  where  my 
eldest  brother  had  recently  arrived  from  Russia. 
I  thought  that  perhaps  there  near  my  brother  he 
might  be  able  to  find  a  job.  The  problem  was  how 
to  send  him.  The  immigration  office  in  Canada 
was  very  careful  not  to  admit  people  without 
money.  A  friend  of  mine  from  Toronto  happened 
to  visit  New  York  at  that  time  and  he  took  my 
brother  along  with  him  on  his  way  back. 

I  can  never  forget  the  expression  in  his  eyes  when 
he  bade  his  last  good-bye  to  me.  They  were  full  of 
love  and  gratitude  to  me,  full  of  fear  for  the  new 
country  he  was  going  to  enter,  not  knowing  what 
the  change  would  bring  him.  That  helpless,  lonely 
look  in  his  eyes  was  heart-breaking,  that  fear  to 
enter  another  strange  country  among  unknown 
people.  I  was  the  only  comfort  he  had  had  since 
he  left  home,  and  even  me  he  was  losing  now. 


The  Brother  Leaves  209 

"  Cheer  up,  boy,  you  are  going  to  begin  a  new  life. 
I'm  so  sure  that  in  a  short  time  we'll  meet  again, 
and  I'll  see  you  happy  and  contented,"  I  tried  to 
comfort  him. 

He  was  silent,  his  eyes  watched  me  all  the  time. 
He  entered  the  train  like  one  who  enters  a  place  of 
sure  death.  A  deep  sigh  drew  out  of  his  breast  when 
the  train  moved.  That  sigh  cried  to  me,  "Oh, 
where  will  I  be  thrown  now?" 

Downcast  and  broken-hearted,  I  returned  home. 
"Was  it  right  to  let  him  go  away  from  me?  He  is 
so  young  and  inexperienced  in  life,  what  will  hap- 
pen to  him  there?"  I  thought.  My  elder  brother 
was  a  man  of  a  cool  character  —  quite  a  contrast  to 
the  rest  of  our  family.  Besides,  he  was  a  married 
man  and  had  to  mind  his  own  family,  and  being 
himself  a  newcomer,  I  was  afraid  that  he  would  not 
be  able  to  take  care  of  my  younger  brother,  and  it 
worried  me  very  much.  But  what  could  I  do?  I 
was  glad  to  give  him  my  last  cent,  but  that  did  not 
help  him.  It  was  suicidal  to  him  to  walk  around 
for  days  and  days  without  work.  Perhaps  there  in 
Toronto  where  the  unemployment  is  not  so  horri- 
ble, he  would  at  last  get  something  to  do.  Trying 
to  comfort  myself  with  that  hope,  I  fell  asleep.  The 
next  morning  I  awoke  with  my  usual  headache.  I 
could  hardly  raise  my  head,  and  wanted  to  stay 
home,  but  as  it  was  Saturday  and  we  only  worked 
till  one  o'clock,  I  went  to  work. 


210  One  of  Them 

A  girl  friend  asked  me  to  accompany  her  to  the 
opera.  She  had  never  heard^Caruso,  and  now,  as  she 
was  going  to  leave  for  Switzerland  the  next  month 
to  be  married  there,  she  wanted  to  hear  him  before 
her  departure.  I  willingly  accepted  her  invitation. 
We  went  to  the  opera  and  stood  in  the  crowded  line 
for  general  admission.  It  happened  to  rain  hard 
and  while  I  was  protected  with  an  umbrella,  my 
feet  were  soaked  through  my  open  soles.  But  what 
did  it  matter?  Caruso  and  the  best  star  cast  were 
singing.  What  more  did  I  want?  —  Hundreds  of  us 
stood  behind  the  orchestra  around  the  rails  enjoy- 
ing the  music  on  foot.  Here  were  crowds  of  all  kinds 
of  toilers,  who  after  a  day's  hard  work  came  to 
stand  on  their  feet  for  another  few  hours  to  sweeten 
their  sorrow  with  music. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  act  I  was  overtaken  with 
feverish  chills.  I  grew  tired  and  seated  myself  on  a 
rail  near  the  aisle.  An  old  gentleman  passed  and 
bent  over  to  me. 

"Are  you  tired,  young  lady?  Would  you  like  to 
use  my  seat?  I  am  leaving  now." 

I  thanked  him  heartily  and  went  to  look  for  the 
number  marked  on  the  check.  It  was  D,  number  20, 
—  a  very  comfortable  chair  near  to  the  stage.  But 
no  sooner  had  I  sat  down  than  two  middle-aged 
ladies  frowned  at  me  through  their  lorgnettes  and 
called  for  the  usher.  The  usher  immediately  re- 
sponded, and  noticing  me  he  asked  in  surprise:  — 


Clothes  and  the  Opera  211 

"Why  —  your  ticket,  ma'm?" 

I  showed  him  the  ticket. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  you  can't  have  this  seat,"  he 
said,  after  examining  my  ticket. 

"Why  can't  I?  This  ticket  entitles  me  to  it," 
I  replied  indignantly.  'It  was  given  to  me  and  I 
have  a  right  to  it." 

"But  you  can't  sit  here,"  he  argued;  "these 
ladies  object  to  your  sitting  here  because  you  are 
not  dressed  decently." 

"But  I  did  not  come  here  to  exhibit  my  clothes. 
I  came  to  hear  the  opera,"  I  said  angrily. 

But  he  would  not  let  me  stay,  and  to  avoid  a 
scene  I  dragged  my  tired  legs  back  to  the  stand- 
ing place.  I  looked  at  my  dress,  then  I  looked  up 
and  around  at  the  "decency" — in  the  orches- 
tra and  boxes  —  and  I  understood.  My  arms  and 
shoulders  were  not  exposed  —  that 's  why  I  was  not 
dressed  decently. 

I  could  no  more  listen  to  the  music.  I  was  nerv- 
ous and  embittered.  Can  any  one  convince  me  that 
they  had  a  right  to  object  to  me,  when  I  had  the 
ticket?  Can  I  ever  forgive  that  aristocratic  "de- 
cency" which  deprived  me  of  the  chair  that  was  so 
gently  offered  to  me  when  I  was  tired  out,  hardly 
having  strength  enough  to  stand  on  my  water- 
soaked  feet? 

Those  high-class  ladies  who  never  earned  the  silk 
and  gold  laces  they  had  on,  who  were  kept  by  their 


212  One  of  Them 

parents  or  by  their  husbands,  who  would  be  lost 
if  they  were  not  supported,  objected  to  me  that 
worked  so  hard  for  even  the  shabby  dress  that  I 
had  on. 

My  heart  was  bubbling  with  anger  and  feeling  of 
injustice.  Why  had  I  not  a  right  to  the  music  that 
I  liked  so  much?  They  deprived  me  of  my  little 
recreation  that  I  so  seldom  got.  And  while  I  stood 
leaning  on  the  rail,  I  was  seized  with  a  new  ambi- 
tion —  an  ambition  to  get  rich  and  buy  up  a  num- 
ber of  seats  among  the  richest,  and  place  on  those 
chairs  people  with  shabby  clothes.  And  to  show 
that  "shabbiness"  perhaps  understands  and  feels 
music  more  than  "gold  embroidered  chiffons." 

The  next  day  I  was  in  bed  enjoying  a  fine  cold. 
I  could  allow  myself  that  luxury,  for  it  was  Sunday. 
I  did  not  know  I  had  the  grippe,  and  on  Monday  I 
went  to  work.  I  thought  it  was  only  a  plain  cold, 
and  for  such  I  could  not  afford  to  stay  home  in  the 
height  of  the  season.  It  was  the  last  days  in  March. 
There  was  one  more  busy  month  to  end  the  spring 
season,  then  —  slack  season  again.  If  I  had  worked 
regularly  as  the  others  did,  I  would  perhaps  have 
had  a  few  dollars  saved  up,  but  now  what  am  I  to 
do,  what  am  I  to  do,  when  the  dull  season  will 
approach  me?  With  the  last  bit  of  my  strength  I 
rushed  my  work,  trying  to  make  up  for  loss  of  time. 

As  if  the  vision  of  "slack"  had  the  same  meaning 
for  everybody,  so  the  girls  were  rushing  more  than 


The  Twenty-fifth  of  March       213 

ever.  Bundles  were  flying  from  hand  to  hand, 
waists  were  slipping  from  the  machines  into  the 
baskets,  from  the  baskets  to  the  counter.  The  girls 
were  bent  low  over  their  machines,  as  if  nothing  else 
mattered  to  them;  their  talking  ceased,  only  their 
singing  encouragingly  speeded  the  ponderous  ma- 
chines as  if  driving  them  quicker.  The  forelady 
ran  from  one  table  to  the  other  as  if  in  a  frenzy  — 
all  was  rush  —  and  we  were  in  it. 

But  all  that  humdrum  rush,  the  buzzing  noise, 
suddenly  stopped.  I  came  in  to  work  one  morning 
and  found  the  girls  in  a  peculiarly  excited  condi- 
tion. Each  looked  at  the  other  so  strangely.  The 
girls  on  my  table  scarcely  worked.  Some  of  them 
were  dressed  in  black.  It  was  unusually  quiet:  no 
laughter,  no  songs  to  accompany  the  noisy  ma- 
chinery.  The  faces  of  all  were  so  serious  and  sad. 

"What  happened?"  I  asked  my  neighbor. 

"Why  it's  the  25th  of  March  to-day!" 

"The  25th  of  March  —  so  what  is  that?" 

She  looked  at  me  unpleasantly  surprised.  I  felt 
very  weak  that  morning  and  was  indifferent  to 
questioning  any  more.  I  absorbed  myself  in  the 
work  and  I  could  hardly  notice  what  was  going  on 
around  me. 

Suddenly  my  neighbor  pulled  my  sleeve.  "Why 
don't  you  stand  up?" 

I  raised  my  head.  All  the  people  in  the  shop 
stood  on  their  feet,  mournfully  looking  at   each 


214  One  of  Them 

other.  Instinctively  I  jumped  up.  We  stood  that 
way  for  a  few  seconds.  Tears  were  in  the  people's 
eyes  when  they  went  back  to  work.  I  felt  ashamed 
to  ask  my  neighbor  again.  From  the  way  she  looked 
at  me  I  understood  that  any  waist-maker  should 
know  what  the  25th  of  March  was.  As  I  sat  puz- 
zled, the  word  "Triangle"  was  pronounced  some- 
where behind  me.  I  thrilled  with  terror!  It  struck 
me  immediately  —  the  memorial  day  of  the  hun- 
dred and  forty-seven  young  workers  who  lost  their 
lives  on  the  25th  of  March  in  the  year  1911.  How 
stupid  was  I  not  to  guess  it  at  once  in  the  morning 
when  I  entered  the  shop ! 

When  that  catastrophe  occurred  I  was  home  in 
Russia.  I  still  remember  what  a  panic  that  news 
caused  in  our  town  when  it  first  came.  Many  a 
family  had  their  young  daughters  in  all  parts 
of  the  United  States  who  worked  in  shops.  And 
as  the  most  of  those  old  parents  had  an  idea  of 
America  as  one  big  town,1  each  of  them  was  al- 
most sure  that  their  daughter  was  a  victim  of  that 
terrible  catastrophe.  Their  tears  never  dried  until 
they  at  last  received  letters  from  their  children 
that  they  were  alive.  So  it  was  the  25th  of  March 

1  I  remember  when  I  left  my  home  for  Canada  an  old  woman 
neighbor  of  ours  came  over  with  a  sponge  cake,  asking  me  the  favor 
to  take  the  cake  along  with  me  and  deliver  it  to  her  girl,  who  lived 
in  New  York.  I  told  her  I  was  not  going  to  New  York,  but  to  Can- 
ada. "Oh,  it's  all  right,  my  child,  America  is  one  world!  You'll  find 
her,  you'll  surely  recognize  her." 


The  Triangle  Memorial  215 

to-day!  In  the  same  day  three  years  ago  one  hun- 
dred and  forty-seven  girls  were  burned  alive!  I 
could  work  no  more.  My  machine,  the  work,  the 
shop,  and  the  people  all  faded,  and  before  me 
stood  out  the  picture  of  Waverly  Place  where  the 
big  Ash  Building  was  embraced  in  fire  tongues. 
Hundreds  of  people  crowded  the  windows  crying 
piteously  for  help.  The  doors  were  locked,  no  fire 
escapes  in  all  the  building.  Most  of  the  men  were 
quick  enough  to  get  into  the  elevators  and  were 
saved.  Those  girls  who  could  not  push  themselves 
through  to  the  elevators  jumped  through  the  win- 
dows and  were  killed.   The  rest  were  burned. 

Impatiently  I  waited  for  that  evening.  I  wanted 
to  know  more  about  the  Triangle.  I  wanted  to 
know  what  kind  of  a  shop  it  was  before  and  after 
the  fire.  I  knew  that  our  union  had  a  memorial 
meeting  for  the  hundred  and  forty-seven  innocent 
victims  that  evening  and  was  anxious  to  be  present 
and  know  more  about  it.  After  six  o'clock  I  went  to 
the  union  office  and  entered  the  manager's  room. 
He  had  his  hat  and  coat  on  ready  to  leave.  "No 
complaints  to-night,  little  friend!  I  must  hurry  to 
the  meeting,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  please,  just  for  a  few  minutes.  You  are 
dealing  with  the  Triangle  since  1913.  You  know 
all  about  that  firm  in  the  past.  Will  you  not  tell 
me  about  it.  I  want  so  much  to  know  of  the  con- 
ditions prevailing  there  now  and  before." 


216  One  of  Them 

I  spoke  with  such  urgency  that  he  could  not  re* 
fuse.  "  Come  on  for  supper  with  me  if  you  wish. 
We'll  talk  while  eating,"  he  said. 

I  gladly  consented.  In  the  restaurant  in  a  far  cor- 
ner, at  a  small  table,  there  we  sat  silent  for  a  long 
while  until  he  at  last  began,  his  deep,  expressive 
eyes  sadly  gazing  into  space  while  he  spoke:  — 

"For  years  and  years  our  union  had  a  hard 
fight  with  the  Triangle  Waist  Company.  The  most 
miserable  conditions  that  could  be  imagined  pre- 
vailed in  the  Triangle  shops.  Directly  the  bosses 
had  very  little  to  do  with  the  workers.  They  kept 
men  inside  contractors.  Each  man  had  a  set  of  ten 
or  twelve  girls,  who  worked  under  him.  Those  men 
were  the  actual  employees  of  the  Triangle.  The 
people  worked  the  longest  hours,  getting  two  and 
three  dollars  a  week.  The  discipline  there  was  of 
the  severest.  The  doors  were  locked  from  soon 
after  eight  in  the  morning  till  lunch  hour.  If  any 
girl  happened  to  be  a  few  minutes  late  after  lunch, 
the  door  was  locked  against  her  till  the  next  morn- 
ing. No  one  was  allowed  to  leave  the  shop  during 
working  hours. 

"The  sub-contractors  always  tried  to  get  in 
newly  arrived  immigrants  —  people  without  any 
knowledge  of  the  English  language  and  American 
life  —  people  who  were  helpless  and  lived  at  the 
mercy  of  the  bosses,  who  only  gave  them  enough  to 
keep  soul  and  body  together.  Their  time  and  free- 


Conditions  in  the  Triangle        217 

dom  belonged  to  the  boss.  Like  locked-up  prisoners 
they  sat  working  in  the  shop  —  a  place  without 
the  slightest  protection  for  their  lives.  And  when 
at  last  the  people  could  not  stand  any  longer  such 
slavery,  they  went  down  on  strike,  demanding  a 
little  of  their  human  rights.   For  twenty  weeks  the 
firm  fought  them  bitterly,  trying  to  break  the 
strike.    They  hired  gangsters  to  make  riots  and 
fight  the  pickets,  and  when  the  men  gangsters 
would  be  afraid  to  beat  girls,  the  firm  went  so  far 
as  to  hire  immoral  women  to  beat  the  pickets. 
The  union,  at  this  time  being  very  small  and  weak, 
tried  her  best  to  help  the  strikers.    For  the  first 
time  the  union  called  a  general  strike,  and  though 
many  shops  were  organized,  the  Triangle  remained 
as  it  was.    The  strike  was  broken,  the  people  re- 
turned to  work  on  the  previous  conditions.  Again 
the  people  worked  for  three  dollars  a  week.  Again 
they  slaved  behind  locked  doors.  The  cuttings  of 
the  goods  were  always  heaped  up  around  the  tables. 
The  smallest  spark  could  inflame  all  the  building 
in  a  minute.  The  people  never  thought  of  it.  Their 
struggle  for  mere  existence  could  not  make  them 
realize  in  what  danger  they  were  every  minute  of 
the  day  in  case  of  fire.    While  in  the  union  shops 
the  people  worked  on  Saturday  till  one  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  in  the  non-union  shops,  including 
the  Triangle,  the  people  worked  till  five.  The  fire 
broke  out  on  Saturday  between  three  and  four  in  the 


218  One  of  Them 

afternoon,  and  before  the  people  had  time  to  get 
up  from  their  machines  the  house  was  all  in  flames. 
The  foremen  and  contractors,  who  had  the  keys 
of  the  doors  with  them,  forgot  to  think  of  the  peo- 
ple. They  hastened  to  save  their  own  lives,  leaving 
the  people  to  the  mercy  of  the  fire.  And  oh,  — " 

Here  he  stopped  for  a  while,  his  teeth  gnashing, 
his  eyes  sparkling  fire. 

"Who  only  saw  that  panic  could  never  forget  it. 
The  heart-breaking  cries  of  the  burning  girls!  It 
still  rings  in  my  ears.  Like  wounded  animals  they 
ran  from  one  door  to  another,  knocking,  calling 
for  help,  but  all  in  vain. 

"Down  the  street,  around  the  building,  thou- 
sands of  people  stood,  but  could  not  help.  Women 
fainted  and  cried  in  the  streets.  The  unfortunate 
parents  of  the  victims  ran  around  in  a  frenzy. 

"Suddenly  — a  terrible  cry  — 'My  child!  Oh, 
my  child!'  a  mother  stood  near  me  clasping  her 
hands  in  agony,  and  looking  wildly  up  at  the  burn- 
ing building  where  her  daughter  stood  near  the 
window,  her  hands  outstretched. 

"'Mother,  mother!'  she  cried,  and  jumped  out 
through  the  window.  One  instant  —  and  she  lay 
crushed  to  death  on  the  sidewalk.  Her  mother, 
falling  on  the  body,  was  immediately  stricken  with 
insanity.  A  few  seconds  later  four  girls  clasped 
their  arms  and  jumped.  Their  heads  were  crushed, 
their  arms  still  clasped  around  each  other.    The 


After  the  Fire  219 

rest  of  the  girls,  seeing  their  co-workers  killed  on 
the  sidewalk,  were  afraid  to  jump,  and  they  found 
their  death  in  fire." 

He  stopped.  Tears  were  in  his  eyes.  He  did  not 
touch  his  supper.   Neither  did  I. 

"To  think  that  the  Triangle  bosses  were  so 
heartless,  when  only  on  Saturday  that  terrible 
catastrophe  occurred;  when  all  the  city  mourned; 
when  the  burned  and  mutilated  bodies  still  lay  on 
the  street,  —  those  bosses  were  so  shameless  as  to 
come  out  with  an  advertisement  the  following 
Monday,  notifying  the  people  that  they  were  ready 
for  business  in  their  new  office !  Ready  for  business 
again,  so  soon  after  the  horrible  death  of  a  hundred 
and  forty-seven  young  beings!  They  could  have 
foreseen  the  danger  in  not  having  fire-escapes,  in 
not  cleaning  up  the  heaped-up  scraps  of  goods. 
They  did  not  care.  They  kept  the  doors  closed  so 
that  a  worker  should  not  be  able  to  leave  during 
working  hour's  —  and  soon  after  that  fire  the  Tri- 
angle opened  that  shop  again.  The  factory's  con- 
tractors got  other  newly  arrived  innocent  young 
immigrants.  They  made  these  girls  work  the  same 
long  hours,  for  the  same  starvation  wages,  under 
the  same  strong  discipline  as  before. 

"Memorial  meetings  were  held  all  over.  Social 
workers  and  other  sympathizers  were  present  at 
these  meetings.  They  condemned  the  Triangle  and 
many  other  factories  where  the  workers  were  in 


220  One  of  Them 

danger,  every  minute  in  the  day,  of  being  fried 
on  the  capitalistic  frying-pan.  They  promised  to 
do  all  in  their  power  to  help  the  workers  to  protect 
their  lives.  But  soon  after  the  bodies  were  buried, 
and  the  memorial  meetings  were  over,  everything 
quieted. 

"At  present,  when  the  Board  of  Sanitary  Con- 
trol is  in  existence,  the  sanitary  conditions  are  con- 
siderably improved,  but  only  a  small  number  of 
the  factories  are  absolutely  safe  from  fire.  Most 
of  them  are  still  dangerous." 

For  a  long  while  he  was  silent,  his  eyes  still  fixed 
in  the  distance. 

"How  is  the  Triangle  at  present?"  I  broke  the 
silence. 

"Oh,"  he  began,  "in  1913  the  Triangle  joined 
the  Manufacturers'  Association,  and  had  the  peo- 
ple in  that  factory  been  fully  organized,  they  would 
have  benefited  from  the  protocol  as  the  organized 
workers  did.  It  was  strongly  believed  that  after 
such  wholesale  slaughter  as  had  occurred,  the  peo- 
ple would  at  last  awake,  they  would  at  last  open 
wide  their  eyes  and  see  what  life  they  live  in,  see 
who  and  what  is  depriving  them  of  their  happiness 
and  liberty,  stand  up  and,  with  their  joint  power, 
free  themselves  from  the  legal  criminals  and  create 
a  better  world,  and  lead  a  better  life;  but  unfortu- 
nately they  do  not  yet  realize,  —  they  still  lack 
self -consciousness.  They  still  have  the  slaving  spirit 


One  of  the  Worst  Shops  221 

of  their  fathers  and  forefathers — the  spirit  that 
calls  only  for  obedience.  They  are  afraid  to  organ- 
ize, because  the  non-union  people  are  more  favored. 

"Though  the  Triangle  Waist  Company  is  a  pro- 
tocol shop,  it  is  still  one  of  the  worst  shops  in  the 
waist  and  dress  industry.  The  people  are  still  week 
workers,  working  on  the  section  system  under  the 
control  of  inside  contractors.  We  have  tried  our 
best  to  abolish  the  inside  contracting  system,  but 
it  is  very  hard  to  accomplish.  This  firm  is  practic- 
ing the  contracting  secretly,  and  is  careful  enough 
not  to  have  the  contractors  on  the  business  rec- 
ord as  contractors,  but  as  ordinary  individual  em- 
ployees. If  we  receive  a  complaint  from  a  girl  in 
the  shop  that  she  works  for  a  contractor  and  we 
take  the  matter  up,  we  seldom  succeed  with  it.  I, 
together  with  the  chief  clerk  of  the  Manufacturers' 
Association,  was  up  a  few  times  in  that  shop  to 
find  out  about  it.  The  firm  would  always  deny  the 
charge.  On  the  record  the  contractors  are  entered 
as  plain  operators,  and  though  we  know  they  are 
contractors,  we  are  not  able  to  fight,  for  it  is  im- 
possible to  establish  the  real  facts." 

It  was  very  late  when  we  left  the  restaurant, 
but  I  did  not  go  home.  Carelessly  we  wandered 
along  the  sound-asleep  dark  streets,  each  one  ab- 
sorbed in  heavy  thoughts.  I  felt  downhearted,  and 
a  hopeless  mood  spread  over  me. 

I  felt  pained  for  the  hundred  and  forty- seven 


222  One  of  Them 

dead  victims,  and  still  more  for  the  millions  of  live 
victims  of  the  present  capitalistic  system.  Who, 
after  all,  is  responsible  for  such  murders?  Where 
is  the  law  to  prosecute  the  murderers  —  Triangle 
bosses?  Who  is  to  remove  those  black  wings  which 
spread  over  the  lives  of  the  young,  hopeful  men 
who  lost  their  brides,  their  future  wives  in  that 
fire?  Who  is  to  remove  those  wings  of  misfortune 
that  spread  over  the  homes  of  the  unfortunate 
fathers  and  mothers  who  lost  their  children,  — 
their  pride,  —  their  bread-winners?  From  the  Rus- 
sian autocratic  weapons  those  parents  ran  to  save 
their  children;  from  hunger,  from  disease  they 
saved  their  little  ones  —  to  "free  America"  they 
fled;  only  to  bring  their  children  to  the  altar  of 
capitalism!  In  front  of  their  eyes  their  children 
were  burning!  Over  a  hundred  future  mothers  of 
American  citizens  were  murdered!  But  that  was 
not  the  only  disaster. 

Many  thousands  of  American  citizens  who  struck 
in  Lawrence  and  in  Paterson  and  in  Colorado  for  a 
better  life  were  cruelly  beaten,  and  some  killed. 

Where  was  the  Government  to  protect  its  citi- 
zens? Why  is  the  Government  so  indifferent  to 
the  miserable  lives  of  those  who  produce  the  enor- 
mous wealth  of  the  country?  Is  this  a  country  free 
only  for  capitalists  who  have  the  real  power?  We 
are  not  citizens,  but  free  slaves!  In  times  of  slav- 
ery, the  people  belonged  to  the  master  directly. 


Free  Slaves  223 

Whose  are  we  now?  Don't  we  belong  to  the  master 
indirectly?  We  come  and  beg,  we  offer  our  hands, 
our  brains,  our  energy,  and  our  freedom  for  sale. 
In  times  of  slavery  the  master  would  sell  his  people 
if  he  pleased;  now  the  people  are  compelled  to  sell 
themselves! 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MY  cold  became  worse  at  the  end  of  the  week, 
and  on  Saturday  morning  I  lay  in  bed  burn- 
ing with  fever.  I  grew  hot;  I  felt  thirsty  and  hun- 
gry, and  I  could  not  move.  Not  a  soul  around  me 
—  no  one  knew  I  was  sick.  The  loneliness  choked 
me.  In  my  feverish  agony  I  imagined  that  no  one 
cared  about  me.  I  felt  alone  and  deserted.  Oh! 
how  I  longed  for  a  warm,  motherly  hand,  for  a 
warm,  soothing  word  in  that  small,  stuffy  room, 
that  seemed  to  grow  still  smaller  in  my  feverish 
mind.  The  walls  came  close  together,  and  tightened 
around  me,  clenching  my  head.  It  grew  noisy  in 
my  ears  —  in  my  head  —  I  fell  into  drowsiness. 

Only  late  the  next  day  the  mistress  of  the  house 
happened  to  open  my  door,  and  found  me  sick. 
She  brought  a  doctor,  and  he  ordered  me  to  stay 
in  bed  for  a  week.  I  had  the  grippe  in  a  severe 
form. 

I  looked  like  a  shadow  when  I  went  back  to 
work  the  second  week.  I  needed  a  good  long  rest 
in  order  to  regain  my  strength,  for  I  had  worked 
too  hard  and  worried  too  much  for  many,  many 
months.  But  I  did  not  dare  to  think  of  it.  I  was 
anxious  to  work  and  pay  up  the  rest  of  my  debt. 
It  lay  upon  my  mind  as  a  heavy  burden,  and  I  had 


The  First  of  May,  1914  225 

to  get  rid  of  it.  I  made  the  biggest  pay  in  my  entire 
career  as  waist-maker  the  second  week  in  April  — 
eighteen  dollars!  Then  the  next  week  it  turned 
slow  all  of  a  sudden. 

Another  first  of  May  approached.  In  my  present 
shop  I  did  not  have  to  agitate  the  girls  to  stop  from 
work  and  keep  holiday.  They  were  quite  enthusi- 
astic about  the  first  of  May  themselves,  and  made 
great  preparations  for  the  coming  holiday.  They 
made  up  white  waists  with  red  collars  —  a  uniform 
for  the  parade,  all  one  style,  as  an  expression  of 
solidarity. 

Thousands  of  workers  —  men,  women  —  joined 
in  the  grand  march.  All  held  signs  of  protest  against 
this  capitalistic  system.  There  were  signs  with  pro- 
test against  the  brutality  of  the  Rockefeller  officers 
toward  the  miner-strikers  in  Colorado.  There  were 
also  many  signs  with  strong  protests  against  the 
war  that  seemed  imminent  between  the  United 
States  and  Mexico.  The  people  did  not  want  war 
—  they  had  nothing  against  the  poor  Mexicans, 
who  were  just  as  helpless  against  their  bandit  cap- 
italists as  the  people  here  are  helpless.  The  war 
would  mean  more  mines,  more  wealth  for  the  Wall 
Street  magnates,  and  more  widows  applying  to 
charity  institutions,  more  orphans  coming  into  the 
orphan  asylums,  more  insane  mothers  in  the  insane 
asylums  —  the  result  of  war  to  the  unprotected 
working-class. 


1 


226  One  of  Them 

My  shop  was  a  new  branch  of  one  of  the  largest 
firms  in  the  industry  —  one  of  the  most  famous  for 
its  sweat  conditions.  In  the  busy  season  we  saw 
none  of  the  actual  bosses,  except  the  one  who  was 
always  in  the  shop  —  he  was  one  of  the  minor 
partners.  Now,  when  it  turned  slow,  they  began 
to  visit  our  shop  very  frequently  and  meddle  in 
everything.  Their  other  shops  were  similar  to 
the  famous  Triangle  Company,  and  so  they  were 
shocked  to  find  that  some  girls  in  our  place  earned 
as  high  as  eighteen  and  twenty  dollars  a  week.  To 
equalize  our  shop  with  their  others,  they  began  to 
cut  down  the  prices  and  enforce  new  rules.  But 
our  girls  refused  to  submit  to  new  rules  that  would 
violate  the  union  agreement.  Our  boss  who  man- 
aged the  shop  always  treated  us  quite  fairly,  but 
now  he  tried  to  carry  out  the  instructions  of  the 
higher  authorities,  and  disputes  between  him  and 
the  workers  began  to  arise. 

I  interfered  very  little  in  the  shop  occurrences  at 
that  time,  for  since  I  had  the  grippe  my  health  had 
become  worse  and  worse,  and  that  created  in  me  an 
awful  indifference  to  everything.  I  felt  too  tired 
to  work,  too  tired  to  think,  too  tired  to  live. 

My  few  friends  were  very  anxious  about  me. 
They  all  advised  me  to  leave  town  for  the  country 
for  a  few  weeks,  but  I  could  not  take  anybody's 
advice  because  I  had  not  any  money. 

My  day's  existence  wholly  depended  on  my  day's 


Making  Summer  Outfits  227 

work,  and  tired  out  though  I  was,  I  could  not 
stop.  But  the  second  week  in  May  work  practically- 
ceased  in  our  shop.  We  would  sit  in  the  shop  all 
day  waiting  for  some  work  that  came  in  from  time 
to  time,  giving  us  occupation  for  one  or  two  hours. 
While  waiting,  the  girls  busied  themselves  in  mak- 
ing their  own  clothes.  They  would  buy  up  all  the 
remnants  left  in  the  shop,  or  hunt  up  bargains  in 
the  various  department-store  basements,  and  pre- 
pare their  own  summer  outfits. 

It  made  one  wonder  to  watch  with  what  endeavor 
they  tried  to  piece  out  waists  of  the  smallest  rem- 
nants, copying  the  styles  from  our  shop.  Seldom 
could  a  girl  (unless  she  was  a  "swell")  afford  to 
buy  a  waist  in  our  shop,  for  though  we  made  them, 
they  were  too  expensive  for  us,  and  we  had  to  find 
satisfaction  in  cheaper  imitations.  In  one  of  these 
basement  bargains,  some  of  my  shopmates  fitted 
me  into  a  dress  made  of  various  pieces  of  cotton 
voile;  the  cost  of  it  all  amounted  to  sixty  cents,  and 
while  they  fitted  it  on  me,  they  teased  me,  saying, 
"  Now  you  are  ready  for  the  country  —  upon  our 
words,  with  this  dress  on,  you'll  have  all  them 
fellows  out  there  after  you." 

Those  magic  words  —  country,  vacation,  fellows 
—  were  occasionally  mentioned  while  the  girls  were 
helping  each  other  with  the  fitting.  They  spoke 
with  great  relish  of  the  good  times  of  last  year,  tell- 
ing one  another  of  their  experiences  in  the  country. 


228  One  of  Them 

"Say,  you  was  in  the  Y.W.'s  country  place  last 
summer,  — is  it  good?  "  some  one  asked  her  neigh- 
bor. 

"Good  for  nothin',"  her  neighbor  answered. 
"Never  again  to  them  'charity  pleasures'!  I  get 
enough  living  in  the  Association  all  the  year  around. 
You  ain't  got  a  thimble's  full  o'  freedom.  There  is 
rules  for  everything  —  sleep,  eat,  wake  up  —  all 
rules.  We  get  to  think  that  we  are  nothin'  but 
rules.  We  only  get  two  weeks'  vacation  in  all  them 
twelve  months,  and  we  like  to  enjoy  it,  and  forget 
everything,  but  there  you  can't.  They  make  you 
work  cause  you  only  pay  three  dollars  a  week,  and 
jus'  when  you  are  outside  runnin'  around,  havin' 
a  good  time,  they  call  you  in  to  set  the  table,  take 
off  the  table,  or  do  some  other  little  t'ings.  You 
can't  enjoy  much,  —  though  you  don't  work  hard, 
—  it's  a  sort  o'  duty  you  don't  like  to  have,  when 
you  wan'na  be  perfectly  free.  Them  charity  insti- 
tutions t'ink  they  do  you  a  lot  o'  favors,  but  they 
don't,  'specially  when  you  work  for  the  rest  of  the 
expenses,  and  it's  still  —  charity  favor." 

"Why  should  you  live  at  the  Y.W.'s?  I  would 
never  stay  there,  even  if  they  kept  me  for  nothing," 
said  one  of  the  girls  who  stood  aside  and  listened 
indulgently  to  her  neighbors'  talk.  "They  keep 
charity  homes  for  poor  working-girls.  Why  don't 
they  see  that  the  working-girl  gets  paid  properly 
for  the  work  she  is  doing,  and  need  not  live  in  a 


Plans  for  Vacation  229 

charity  home?  Our  rich  employers  give  charity  by 
underpaying  us;  for  our  money  they  get  fame  and 
praise  —  eh,  if  they  only  paid  us  what  we  deserved, 
we  could  get  comfortable  homes  without  their  help; 
with  our  money  they  are  kind  and  charitable." 

"You  are  perfectly  right,"  the  inmate  of  the 
Y.W.C.A.  assented,  and  as  if  unwilling  to  be 
switched  off  the  main  subject  she  turned  to  her 
first  questioner:  "You  been  in  Connecticut  for  your 
vacation;  how  did  you  like  it?" 

"Nothin'  doin'  in  Connecticut  for  me  this  sum- 
mer. I'm  goin'  to  the  mountains.  It's  been  a 
rotten  boarding-place.  Mind  you,  not  even  a  de- 
cent dancin'  hall,  and  only  two  'n'  half  fellows  to 
a  dosend  girls.  There  ain't  much  fun  in  dancin' 
with  girls,"  she  remarked. 

"That's  right,  dem  cheap  countries  is  good  for 
nothing,"  another  girl  remarked  with  authority. 
"You  come  with  me,  where  I  was  last  summer. 
My!  they  got  some  dancin'  hall,  and  fresh  eggs 
and  chicken  every  day,  and  lots  of  fellows  too. 
We'd  hardly  skip  a  night  —  we'd  dance  till  twelve 
and  one  at  night,"  she  finished  with  relish. 

"Where  is  that  country  of  yours?"  a  few  girls 
asked  her  anxiously. 

"Why,  it's  right  in  the  Catskill  Mountains  in 
Sullivan  County." 

I  had  time  enough  to  observe  and  listen  to  their 
talks  and  found  that  only  a  few  of  us  were  there  to 


230  One  of  Them 

whom  country  meant  a  nice,  quiet  resting-place, 
where  one  could  leisurely  breathe  the  fresh  air. 
To  the  great  many  girls  who  are  deprived  all  the 
year  around  of  proper  recreation,  the  country  is 
like  a  big,  exciting  reception  for  which  they  are 
preparing  themselves  for  weeks  ahead  —  country 
to  them  meant  fresh-laid  eggs  for  breakfast,  chicken 
for  dinner,  and  a  dancing  hall  to  dance  away  their 
vacation  — 

And  such  was  their  life  —  such  was  the  breadth 
of  our  world,  realized  by  only  a  few  of  us  who 
looked  at  the  others  rather  indulgently,  if  not  with 
pity.  Still,  in  their  ignorance  they  were  at  least 
happier  than  we,  happier  because  of  their  ignorant 
indifference  to  their  wretched  life. 

Our  days  in  the  shop  became  more  and  more 
monotonous,  as  we  sat  waiting  for  work  most  of 
the  time.  We  grew  weary  of  our  idleness  and  of 
the  warm  weather,  and  at  last  the  forelady  laid  us 
off  for  one  week.  I  stopped  working  altogether.  I 
gave  up  my  room,  and,  by  invitation,  went  to  stay 
with  my  friend  Alice  at  her  small  apartment  that 
I  liked  so  much.  She  was  going  to  leave  the  city 
soon,  and  wished  to  have  me  with  her  for  a  while. 
My  friend  Alice  was  a  great  optimist  and  tried  her 
best  to  revive  my  spirits  in  me,  but  I  confess  it  was 
the  hardest  task  she  ever  undertook. 

My  present  pessimistic  state  of  mind  developed 
not  only  from  my  own  sufferings,  but  also  from  the 


Doubts  and  Desires  231 

life  around  me.  The  general  conditions  of  the  peo- 
ple among  whom  I  lived  filled  my  heart  with  misery. 
My  head  was  always  puzzled  with  the  question  of 
inequality  in  this  universe.  I  was  unable  to  decide 
what  remedy  would  be  best  to  equalize  the  world. 
One  thing  I  understood:  that  the  present  capital- 
istic system  must  be  changed,  that  the  wealth 
created  by  people  should  be  divided  among  those 
people.  But  whether  the  change  should  come 
through  peaceful  education  or  revolution,  I  felt 
not  ripe  enough  to  decide. 

In  the  warm  spring  nights,  we  would,  both  sitting 
on  the  floor,  discuss  the  social  questions.  I  suffered 
from  sleeplessness  the  last  few  weeks,  and  Alice 
would  often  sit  up  with  me  all  through  the  night  and 
talk  to  me.  Again  she  raised  the  question  of  my 
taking  up  a  course  in  a  training  school  for  or- 
ganizers. The  Women's  Trade-Union  League  in 
Chicago  was  about  to  open  a  school  for  organizers, 
and  she  tried  to  persuade  me  to  go  to  Chicago  to 
take  up  that  course.  But  my  enthusiasm  for  trade- 
unionism  had  somewhat  diminished  lately.  As  my 
friend  Fannie  once  felt,  so  I  now  began  to  feel, 
that  its  progress  was  very  slow.  Besides,  my  health 
failed  me,  and  that  made  it  almost  impossible  for 
me  to  study  while  I  had  to  support  myself  mean- 
time. 

One  Sunday  evening  my  friend  Alice  asked  me 
if  I  would  not  like  to  hear  Mother  Jones,  who  had 


232  One  of  Them 

recently  returned  from  Colorado  where  the  big  min- 
ers' strike  was  going  on.  I  had  heard  about  Mother 
Jones  so  much.  Mother  Jones  —  the  Angel  of  the 
Miners,  as  she  was  called  —  is  a  woman  of  eighty- 
two  years  of  age.  All  her  life  long,  she  goes  from 
one  State  to  the  other  where  the  coal  industry  pre- 
vails, bringing  light  and  courage  to  the  unfortunate 
coal  miners  who  are  made  industrial  serfs  by  the 
mine  magnates. 

We  went  to  that  meeting.  The  hall  was  over- 
crowded. In  my  mind  I  pictured  the  eighty-two- 
years-old  "Mother"  as  a  tall,  big,  strong  woman. 

I  stood,  waiting  impatiently.  "Mother  Jones" 
the  chairman  announced  —  and  in  walked  an  old, 
old,  bent  lady,  accompanied  by  two  men  on  whose 
arms  she  leaned.  A  deeply  wrinkled  face,  a  few 
white  hairs  left  on  her  head  — ■  she  showed  her 
eighty-two  years.  Slowly  she  walked  over  to  the 
platform. 

It  was  very  warm,  the  air  was  thick,  which  made 
her  breathing  heavy.  In  a  trembling,  hardly  au- 
dible voice  she  began  to  talk.  We  were  all  very 
silent,  trying  to  catch i the  words;  but  as  she  went 
deeper  into  her  subject  her  voice  rose  louder  and 
louder,  the  words  came  out  clearer,  the  expression 
forcible.  The  eighty-two-years-old  lady  had  slowly 
vanished.  Before  me  stood  a  woman  full  of  em- 
bitterment  against  the  powers  which  allowed  her 
children  in  West  Virginia  to  be  treated  so  brutally 


Mother  Jones  233 

years  before,  and  in  Colorado  now  —  a  woman 
filled  with  revenge  against  those  who  tortured  her 
"sons."  Before  me  stood  an  agitator  with  enor- 
mous power;  a  labor  leader  who  carried  the  bright 
future  of  the  working-class.  She  hypnotized  us. 
She  carried  us  with  her  to  the  fields  of  Colorado. 
Here  we  saw  the  miners  working  in  the  dark,  dan- 
gerous caverns,  where  they  risk  their  lives  every 
minute  in  the  day,  —  here  are  the  miners  out  on 
strike  demanding  human  conditions,  —  here  are 
the  sheriffs  and  other  guards  who  kill  the  strikers, 
drive  them  out  of  the  homes,  destroy  their  prop- 
erty, —  here  are  a  number  of  tents  where  the 
wives  and  children  of  the  strikers  were  sheltered, 
only  to  be  burned  in  the  fire  following  the  conflict 
between  the  state  militia  and  the  strikers. 

"Me  —  a  weak  woman  of  eighty-two  years — ■ 
they  locked  up  in  a  cell,  so  that  I  should  not  be  able 
to  stand  and  fight  with  my  boys ! "  (She  calls  all  the 
miners  her  boys.)  "  For  days  and  days  they  kept 
me  in  that  dark,  damp  cell;  for  nine  long  days  I  had 
to  fight  with  the  hungry  rats!  They  thought  that 
a  woman  eighty-two  years  old  would  be  too  weak 
to  overcome  it.  They  intended  to  weaken  me  that 
way!  But  in  those  nine  long  days  of  starvation,  in 
those  nine  long  days  and  sleepless  nights,  I  grew 
stronger;  with  more  hate  against  the  high-class 
burglars,  with  more  readiness  to  stand  with  my 
boys  and  fight,  fight  to  the  last! 


234  One  of  Them 

"Afterwards,  when  they  released  me,  they  or- 
dered me  out  of  the  State.  I  protested,  for  who  has 
a  right  to  send  me  out  of  a  place  where  I  lived  for 
eighty-two  years?  Of  all  the  citizens  I  was  the 
oldest !  But  again  I  was  locked  up  for  eleven  days, 
again  they  starved  me,  and  after  those  eleven  days, 
they  put  me  on  a  train  and  sent  me  out  of  the 
State!" 

As  she  spoke,  I  forgot  that  I  was  hearing  all  that 
of  "free  America"!  I  found  myself  in  Russia  where 
exactly  the  same  brutality  is  practised!  Dark, 
autocratic  Russia  —  and  light,  free  America !  There 
the  people  are  persecuted  for  free  speech,  they  are 
exiled  to  Siberia.  What  is  here?  Is  it  not  the  same, 
only  in  a  different  form? 

How  I  admired  that  little,  old  woman  with  so 
much  youthful  spirit  in  her!  How  I  admired  her 
courage!  A  woman  of  eighty-two  years,  and  so 
active  —  so  full  of  energy !  She  seemed  to  have  put 
new  courage  into  me.  I  felt  more  hopeful.  She  was 
eighty-two,  —  I  was  twenty-one;  —  there  was  time 
for  me.  I  said  to  my  friend  Alice  that  night,  as  we 
both  lay  sleepless,  "I  am  going  to  try  my  strength 
and  ability." 

"Hurrah!"  she  exclaimed,  and  we  shook  hands. 

The  next  day  we  sat  making  our  plans.  We  both 
agreed  that  I  must  grow  strong  physically  before  I 
began  to  do  anything.  We  decided  that  I  should  go 
to  the  country  for  a  month  and  go  to  Chicago  after- 


Thoughts  of  Home  235 

wards.  There  I  hoped  to  find  work  and  attend  the 
school  of  the  Women's  Trade-Union  League.  For 
that  purpose  Alice  gave  me  fifty  dollars.  In  a  few 
days  we  parted.  She  went  back  to  Canada,  and  I 
began  to  look  for  a  reasonable  country  place. 

It  happened  that  a  married  sister  of  mine  was  to 
come  over  from  Russia  to  join  her  husband  who 
lived  in  Newark.  I  delayed  my  trip,  waiting  for  her 
to  come.  I  looked  forward  to  our  meeting,  thrilling 
with  a  desire  to  see  her,  to  hear  some  of  the  news 
from  home,  —  that  dear  spot  from  which  I  had 
been  torn  away  for  more  than  two  years,  —  to  re- 
call together  with  her,  the  sweet  recollections  of 
my  early  unhappy  yet  happy  life:  my  home  that  I 
missed  so  much  in  the  gray,  monotonous,  slack 
days,  when  I  paced  the  city  from  one  end  to  the 
other,  searching  vainly  for  work.  In  those  days, 
when  tired,  exhausted,  half -starved,  I  would  return 
home,  facing  four  narrow,  lonely  walls.  In  those 
days,  when  I  lay  sick,  burning  with  fever,  lonely 
and  forsaken,  —  oh!  how  I  craved  for  my  home,  to 
feel  on  my  burning  head  my  mother's  soft  hand  as 
a  healing  compress  —  my  father's  gentle  smile  as  a 
balsam  to  my  wounded  heart. 

I  close  my  eyes,  and  I  see  my  father  —  the  mild, 
peaceful  expression  in  his  deep,  gray  eyes,  a  divine 
smile  resting  on  his  lips  —  hard  life  seemed  insig- 
nificant to  him. 

My  mother  —  her  tired,  nervous,  always  anxious, 


236  One  of  Them 

often  frowning,  face,  a  pair  of  sorrowful  black  eyes, 
sadly  carrying  the  brunt  of  life.  Of  both  their  lives, 
hers  was  the  harder.  From  the  time  of  her  marriage 
she  hardly  had  a  care-free  day  —  bearing  children 
every  two  years,  she  fought  with  the  measles,  scar- 
let fever,  typhoid  fever,  coughs  and  various  other 
colds;  she  fed  them,  she  clothed  them.  She  gave 
life  to  thirteen  children,  of  whom  she  buried  four. 
Knowledge,  wisdom,  for  her  children  she  placed 
highest.  I  remember  with  what  particular  sweet- 
ness she  bent  over  a  sleepless  child.  She  would  al- 
ways sing  the  same  famous  old  Jewish  cradle-song 
that  so  well  symbolizes  the  love  of  the  Jews  for 
knowledge  and  wisdom :  — 

"A  little,  white  goat  stood  under  your  cradle, 
With  raisins  and  nuts  the  goat  went  to  peddle;  — 
But  you,  my  child,  will  study  wisdom, 
For  knowledge  is  of  all  business  best, 
A  pious,  honest,  and  learned  Jew  — 
You  shall  forever  last."  l 

She  never  saw  a  bright  day  until  her  children 
grew  up.  And  then  —  Her  oldest  boy  was  in  the 
hated  Russian  army,  another  was  in  prison  for 
carrying  the  message  of  Freedom,  three  children 
scattered  in  far-away  America  —  this  was  the  re- 
ward of  her  long  years  of  struggle  and  hope  for  hap- 
piness, that  might  have  come  through  her  children. 
She  waited  patiently.  She  had  strong  faith  in  her 
God.   She  believed  in  the  Almighty.   She  prayed, 

1  Translated  from  the  Yiddish. 


Hardships  in  Russia  237 

prayed  all  her  life  to  him.  And  each  new-coming 
blow  she  took  as  the  will  of  God.  "So  does  God 
want  —  such  is  His  wish.  God  will  help  —  God  is 
pitying." 

But  as  the  long  years  wore  on,  and  life  became 
harder  with  no  relief,  a  thought  of  suspicion  would 
often  secretly  creep  into  that  pure  heart.  And  the 
tired-out  God's  martyr  would  repine  and  curse  the 
day  that  brought  her  into  life. 

I  remember  when  my  father  was  once  boycotted 
(he  was  boycotted  twice  in  his  life  on  account  of 
his  liberal  views  on  religion  and  education),  he  left 
town  to  start  a  school  somewhere  else.  My  mother 
was  left  penniless  with  seven  children.  Our  house 
caught  fire  one  night,  and  was  destroyed,  all  except 
two  rooms  that  served  as  a  refuge  until  father  was 
brought  back  and  we  were  able  to  rebuild  it. 

Though  only  five  years  old  at  that  time,  I  clearly 
remember  how  one  late  autumn  night,  a  thunder- 
storm broke  out.  Five  of  us  children  were  sitting  on 
a  sofa  near  the  brick  oven,  hungry,  shivering  with 
fright  and  cold.  Mother  and  the  two  oldest  children 
were  out. 

The  rain  poured  down,  soaking  the  ceiling. 
Pieces  of  plaster  kept  falling  on  us  and  on  the 
beds.  Mother  entered,  her  shawl  dripping  with 
water.  She  gave  a  glance  at  the  ceiling  and  at  us 
smeared  with  plaster,  and  she  clasped  her  hands  in 
agony  at  the  disaster. 


238  One  of  Them 

Raising  her  eyes  she  cried  out,  "O  Almighty,  if 
you  can't  make  an  end  to  this,  make  an  end  to  my 
life;  take  me  away  with  all  of  them  —  my  innocent 
1    birds." 

It  was  wonderful  how  father,  through  such  long 
years  of  hardship,  kept  up  his  serenity.  He  must 
have  had  iron  nerves.  I  seldom  remember  him 
without  his  peaceful  smile,  that  smile  that  made 
his  pupils  adore  him.  He  was  a  born  teacher. 

In  those  days  the  Hebrew  schools  were  kept  open 
from  eight  in  the  morning  till  eight  in  the  evening. 
Children  from  the  age  of  seven  were  kept  in  school 
for  such  long  hours,  and  made  to  study  hard. 
Bright  children  of  nine  and  ten  were  taught  the 
Talmud.  It  was  absolutely  reckless  for  such  young, 
delicate  brains  to  deal  with  the  seriousness  of  the 
Talmud,  and  my  father  opposed  the  custom,  but 
with  no  success.  There  was  no  break  in  the  studies 
except  for  their  dinner.  I  remember  those  poor 
young  creatures  —  those  thin,  pale-faced,  tired 
scholars  of  such  a  tender  age.  My  father  had  long 
realized  that  such  a  system  was  ruinous  to  the 
health  of  the  children.  He  tried  to  induce  the  other 
schoolmasters  to  introduce  games  and  songs  and 
cited  for  argument  the  blooming  health  of  the  chil- 
dren in  the  Russian  public  schools.  But  he  was 
only  laughed  at. 

The  orthodox  Jews  of  our  town  at  that  time 
declared  him  a  sinner.    Jewish  children  were  to 


My  Father's  School  239 

be  taught  the  Torah,  but  no  games,  no  songs.  My 
father,  however,  began  to  introduce  games  into 
his  own  school.  I  remember  with  what  impatient, 
gleaming  eyes  those  little  animals  awaited  the  play- 
hour.  When  in  the  afternoon  their  big,  old  "rabi" 
would  leave  his  "cathedra,"  they  all  surrounded 
him  and  played  and  sang  together.  But  their 
happiness  soon  ended. 

One  morning  leaflets  were  hung  up  in  the  syna- 
gogue announcing  that  father  was  leading  the  chil- 
dren to  sin  —  that  instead  of  teaching  the  Torah, 
he  is  spending  his  time  in  play.  And  my  father  was 
boycotted.  But  a  year  later  the  town  realized  that 
his  methods  were  essential.  They  realized  what 
effect  the  play  had  on  the  children,  and  they  sent 
for  him.  They  brought  him  back  with  honor  — 
and,  bless  his  heart,  he  is  still  engaged  in  teaching 
and  playing  with  his  pupils  —  mostly  beginners. 

He  still  spends  his  evenings  in  thinking  of  newer 
reforms  for  the  Hebrew  beginners'  school.  He  is 
an  artist  in  dealing  with  beginners,  and  they  adore 
him.  He  is  even  known  among  the  very  small  chil- 
dren who  never  saw  him.  A  mother  in  our  town 
could  rule  the  most  mischievous  child  by  warning 
him  that  he  would  not  be  sent  to  my  father's  school 
unless  he  behaved. 

The  meeting  with  my  sister  was  far  from  being 
happy.  She  did  not  expect  to  find  me  so  thin  and 


240  One  of  Them 

worn  out.  She  felt  hurt  and  disappointed.  I  tried 
to  be  cheerful  and  happy. 

"Now,  you  are  going  to  stay  with  me,  and  let  me 
look  after  you ;  for  I  promised  mother  to  keep  you 
with  us.  She  wants  us  all  to  be  together,  and  take 
care  of  one  another,"  she  begged  me.  "Mother  has 
grown  very  old  since  you  left;  also  father  has  turned 
gray.  They  could  not  get  accustomed  to  it  for  a 
long,  long  time.  You  were  the  first  one  to  make  the 
break,  and  little  by  little  four  of  us  have  strayed 
away  from  home.  Israel  is  in  the  army  —  and  at 
that  once  long,  overcrowded  table,  only  four  small 
children  are  left. 

"All  week  long  father  and  mother  are  busy  — 
but  the  Sabbath  meal  —  oh,  that  is  a  very  miser- 
able hour  for  mother.  She  misses  us  greatly.  The 
empty  chairs  make  the  room  so  gloomy,  and 
mother  never  ceases  to  cry.  She  always  places  your 
photograph  near  her  at  the  table." 

Oh,  my  mother,  if  I  were  only  able  to  repay  you 
for  your  noble  sacrifices,  for  all  the  injustice  we  did 
to  you  by  running  away  to  look  for  our  own  hap- 
piness. You  saint  soul!  I  would  give  my  life  to 
make  you  happy,  to  make  your  hopes,  your  dreams 
come  true.  But  mother's  happiness  is  her  chil- 
dren's happiness.  What  must  I  do  to  be  happy  for 
her  sake?  What  must  I  do  to  outgrow  misery? 

To  stay  with  my  sister,  I  had  to  play  the  game 
of  contentment,  and  that  I  could  not  very  often  do. 


A  Deceptive  Gift  241 

For  my  mother's  sake,  I  had  to  hide  from  her  my 
financial  nakedness;  and  to  make  her  believe  that 
nothing  was  wrong  with  me,  I  bought  her  a  present 
for  ten  dollars,  never  telling  her  that  they  were  bor- 
rowed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  WEEK  later  I  was  off  to  a  farm  near  Prince- 
ton, the  farmer's  family  being  my  country 
people. 

For  the  first  time  since  I  left  my  home,  I  saw  the 
country  again.  With  bewildered,  hungry  eyes,  I 
stood  there  the  first  morning,  looking  around  me. 
My  heart  thrilled  with  joy,  when,  after  so  many, 
many  months  of  sickening  city  life,  I  again  faced 
those  spacious  green  fields. 

The  sun  was  widely  spread  over  the  horizon;  hun- 
dreds of  birds  were  singing  and  twittering  their 
morning  songs,  flying  from  one  place  to  another; 
tiny  little  chicks  ran  around  in  the  yard,  digging 
their  beaks  into  the  soft  ground,  searching  for 
worms.  There  were  cherry  trees  loaded  with  ripe 
white  cherries.  The  grass  spread  a  fresh,  dewy 
fragrance,  and  everything  around  was  full  of  life, 
fresh  life,  real  life ! 

I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  I  began  to  jump 
around  singing  and  whistling  in  accord  with  the 
birds.  I  felt  happy.  I  forgot  that  only  yesterday 
I  came  from  the  city.  It  seemed  as  if  I  was  born 
here,  and  grew  up  among  these  trees,  these  spacious 
fields,  these  clear  skies. 

After  breakfast  I  and  a  few  other  girls,  who  were 


In  the  Country  243 

also  spending  their  vacation  here,  went  to  the  near- 
by canal,  that  cut  through  the  woods.  Deep  in  the 
shade  of  magnificent  old  oaks,  majestically  spread- 
ing their  branches  over  the  water,  where  the  restful 
shade  mingled  with  the  golden  sunrays;  there  the 
canal  was  hidden,  protected  on  the  other  side  by  a 
young,  leafy  grove. 

Glowing  days,  wonderful  days  followed !  We  had 
a  rowboat,  fishing-lines  —  all  we  wanted  for  our 
enjoyment.  Away  from  civilization,  from  artificial- 
ity, we  ran  around  all  day  in  our  loose  bathing- 
suits,  singing  merrily,  jumping  around  like  wild 
goats.  We  were  free,  we  belonged  to  ourselves,  and 
we  enjoyed  it  immensely ! 

Very  often,  when  I  grew  tired  of  running  around, 
I  would  hide  myself  in  the  deep  shadows  under  a 
tree,  and  lie  there  for  hours  and  hours,  wrapped  in 
illusions,  lulled  by  the  quiet  rustling  of  the  grass 
and  gentle  zephyr  winds  in  the  trees.  The  leaves 
would  sway  and  bend  to  each  other  as  if  for  a  kiss, 
—  the  grass  would  flutter  and  its  sweet  murmurs 
would  fill  my  heart  with  deep,  mysterious  feelings. 
I  understood  its  whispers  —  it  murmured  of  Na- 
ture's might,  of  its  constant  activity,  of  the  summer 
to  go,  and  summer  to  come  —  of  eternal  life  —  of 
love  —  happy  romance  — 

From  time  to  time  a  busy  bee  passed,  buzzing 
around,  or  a  bird  singing,  its  flute-like  voice  melting 
into  quaverings,  would  stop  to  rest  on  a  branch. 


244  One  of  Them 

How  wonderful  it  was  to  lie  there,  lulled  by  those 
sweet  sounds,  embraced  by  nature,  and  dream  — 
dream  of  happiness  and  love  — 

Yes,  love  —  Who,  at  twenty-one,  —  when  from 
the  youthful  blossom  the  woman  is  rapidly  awak- 
ening, when  the  heart  is  bubbling  over  with  emo- 
tions, the  soul  wrapped  in  dreams,  —  does  not  se- 
cretly crave  for  a  sympathetic  some  one?  For  some 
one  who  understands  and  loves?  Who  at  that  age 
does  not  crave  for  a  mate  —  to  go  hand  in  hand 
into  life's  path,  to  share  its  burdens,  to  share  its 
pleasure? 

In  the  city  where  the  burden  of  existence  weighed 
heavily  on  me,  where  day  in  and  day  out  I  lived  in 
the  ugly  reality  of  poverty,  where  before  me  passed, 
back  and  forth,  the  down-trodden,  cursed  human- 
ity, I  had  little  thought  for  love.  I  was  wrapped  in 
misery,  ugly  misery! 

Here,  in  the  quiet,  wavy  grass,  in  the  peaceful- 
ness  of  open  nature,  my  heart  began  to  long,  my 
heart  craved  for  a  mate,  to  go  hand  in  hand  against 
misfortune,  to  fight  against  untruthfulness,  to  rise 
together  to  the  heights,  away,  away  from  this  hate- 
ful, toiling  world,  where  the  noblest  callings  are 
crushed  under  the  exploiting  capitalistic  hammer, 
where  humanity  and  love  are  turned  into  dollars  — 

As  time  passed  and  my  vacation  drew  near  its 
close,  I  grew  more  thoughtful.  Another  week  and  I 


Country  Freedom  245 

would  be  back  in  the  noise,  back  in  the  dirty,  air- 
less dwellings,  back  to  the  mish-mash  that  is  called 
"  civilization."  Oh,  how  I  hated  it,  how  I  hated  this 
present  kind  of  civilization! 

The  other  girls  also  began  to  get  ready  for  the 
city.  I  had  not  paid  much  attention  to  them  until 
now.  Making  my  own  meals  for  economy's  sake, 
while  they  boarded,  I  seldom  sat  at  the  same  table 
with  them.  On  the  days  when  there  were  guests  to 
spend  the  week-ends,  the  other  girls  would  dress  up 
in  their  best,  while  I  climbed  a  cherry  or  apple  tree, 
and  sitting  on  a  branch,  would  read  undisturbed. 
They  thought  it  very  bad  manners;  they  also 
thought  it  was  bad  manners  when  I,  believing  my- 
self the  best  chaperon,  would  go  off  fishing  alone 
with  the  farmer  boys. 

Now  that  I  thought  more  of  the  city,  I  became 
more  interested  in  the  girls,  for  their  faces  also  ex- 
pressed regret  to  leave  the  full  freedom  of  the  coun- 
try that  they  had  so  much  enjoyed  for  a  short  time. 

Our  conversation  began  unexpectedly.  It  was 
late  one  night  —  a  wonderful  July  night  when  the 
moon  appears  in  its  full  charm,  illuminating  the 
sleeping  world.  In  such  a  night  of  quiet  peaceful- 
ness,  full  of  mysterious  charm,  —  when  the  heart 
beats  with  thirst  for  life,  for  love,  for  sympathy,  — 
when  the  soul  is  deeply  sunk  in  melancholy,  and 
the  mind  is  wholly  submitted  to  the  sentimental 
heart's  desires,  I  lay  in  my  bed  sleepless.   In  vain 


246  One  of  Them 

did  I  try  to  fall  asleep  —  that  wonderful  night  lured 
me  to  the  garden,  where  the  flowers  covered  with 
night-dew  shed  such  an  intoxicating  fragrance. 
Slipping  a  gown  on,  I  went  out.  It  was  light  as 
midday.  The  trees  of  the  near-by  forests  threw 
gigantic  shadows  over  the  fields,  making  the  night 
more  mysterious.  A  feeling  of  loneliness  crept  into 
my  heart.  The  quietness  frightened  me.  On  such 
a  night  the  lonely  heart  seeks  for  another  heart  to 
be  near  —  to  walk  silently  together  through  the 
field,  bathed  in  moonlight,  to  walk  into  the  wide 
farness,  and  to  dream  —  dream  of  freedom  and 
love  —  of  perfection,  of  harmony  in  this  world. 

Back  and  forth  over  the  small  garden  path  I 
walked,  until,  tired,  I  went  to  the  front  porch  to 
rest. 

There,  wrapped  in  blankets,  their  eyes  wide  open, 
looking  wistfully  at  the  moon,  the  three  girls  lay 
silently  stretched  on  the  floor.  I  joined  them.  They 
were  all  affected  by  the  moon's  glory.  They  too 
were  melancholy.  For  a  long  time,  we  were  all 
silent,  until,  at  last,  I  broke  the  silence. 

"Well,  girls,  I  think  it  is  good-bye  soon,  is  it 
not?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  reluctantly  one  assented  with  a  deep 
sigh. 

"To  think  that  we  got  to  work  like  horses  all  the 
year  round,  and  prepare  and  save  up  money  just 
to  have  enough  for  two  or  three  weeks'  vacation, 


Working-Girls'  Hopes  247 

and  when  the  vacation  at  last  comes,  the  time  runs 
so  quickly  that  before  you  get  time  to  look  around, 
—  there!  you  must  go  back  to  work,"  complained 
another  girl. 

Poor  creature,  she  just  expressed  what  many  of 
the  girls  felt;  she  was  only  one  of  them,  one  of  the 
many  who  laboriously  bent  their  heads  over  the 
machines,  struggling  hard,  turning  their  health  into 
scanty  earnings,  saving  from  anything  and  every- 
thing, in  order  to  go  off  to  the  country  for  two  or 
three  weeks  in  the  summer;  and  while  some  of  them 
do  it  intelligently,  —  they  go  to  the  country  for  a 
rest,  for  all  the  natural  things  that  the  country  can 
give  them,  —  a  great  many  spend  weeks  of  exciting 
preparations.  They  deprive  themselves  of  regular 
meals  in  order  to  save  enough  for  a  more  expensive 
boarding-house.  For  weeks  ahead  they  sit  up  late 
into  the  night  making  dresses,  petticoats,  and 
other  useless  cheap  fineries;  for  they  must  appear 
"swell"  at  those  expensive  country  homes.  And, 
who  knows?  Fate  may  bring  them  together  with 
a  decent  fellow  in  an  expensive  boarding-house; 
and  there  are  chances  of  marrying  and  getting  rid 
of  the  hated  shop  and  eternal  anxiety  for  a  living. 
So  the  long,  exhausting  deprivations,  the  invest- 
ment in  good  clothes,  may  after  all  prove  profit- 
able. 


*> 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MY  vacation  was  to  end.  What  a  wonderful 
change  this  month  of  country  life  had 
made  in  me.  With  hidden  joy  I  saw  in  the  mirror 
that  my  face,  once  more  rounded  out,  had  gained 
its  freshness;  my  eyes  again  were  bright  and  shiny. 

I  arrived  in  New  York  with  stored-up  strength 
and  vigor,  ready  to  take  life  up  anew.  I  had  been 
so  wrapt. in  my  own  self  the  past  month,  so  in- 
different to  everything  else,  that  I  had  not  even 
cared  to  read  the  newspaper,  and,  of  course,  was 
ignorant  of  the  burning  news  that  so  suddenly 
inflamed  the  world;  and,  oh!  the  horror  of  the  news 
of  the  European  war  broke  over  me  like  a  thun- 
der storm.  It  was  unimaginable!  How  could  it  be 
possible  for  civilized  people  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury —  the  children  of  Christ  —  to  engage  in 
bloodshed;  bringing  shame  and  destruction  upon 
humanity;  the  commandment  —  "Love  thy  neigh- 
bor" —  interpreted  with  guns,  shells,  and  powder. 
Why  fight,  what  for?  and  what  will  this  war  bring 
to  me? 

And  it  brought  to  me  —  As  my  mind  was  swal- 
lowed in  the  whirlpool  of  those  chaotic  days,  a  letter 
from  my  parents  came  to  me.  Father  wrote  to  me: 
"Our  Hebrew  schools  are  nearly  empty,  for  the 


War  News  from  Eussia  249 

fathers  who  paid  for  their  children's  education  were 
taken  to  war.  Yotir  brother  is  being  sent  to  the 
front.  Nathan,  who  is  such  a  youth,  is  being  re- 
served. A  fine  was  imposed  on  me  for  Sam,  because 
he  failed  to  appear  in  answer  to  the  military  call. 
I  am  not  able  to  pay  the  fine,  so  the  police  have 
taken  away  from  the  house  any  article  they  think 
valuable.  We  can  do  nothing  but  pray  to  God 
that  He  should  calm  His  fury.  Mother  and  I  are 
grateful  to  God  that  you  and  Sam  and  the  others 
are  now  in  America  —  in  a  free,  blessed  country 
where  there  are  no  tzars  and  kings  to  shed  people's 
blood.  We  don't  know  what  will  happen  to  us  next, 
for  every  day  there  is  something  new  to  disturb  us. 
We  have  aged  twenty  years  during  this  past  month, 
and  I  fear  we  shall  face  starvation  before  long." 

The  terror  raging  at  home  showered  over  my 
head,  throwing  me  into  a  frenzy.  What  would  be- 
come of  my  family?  What  will  happen  to  them  in 
the  near  future?  How  shall  we  be  able  to  overcome 
all  that?  Oh!  heaven  and  earth,  calm  thy  fury! 

My  brother  taken  to  war  to  fight  for  "his  coun-  \/ 
try,"  to  fight  for  a  hated  country  that  deprived 
nearly  seven  millions  of  his  brothers  of  all  possible 
freedom,  a  country  that  threw  them  together  into 
a  cursed  pale,  and  tried  to  deaden  and  enchain  their 
brains,  their  most  beautiful  instincts,  their  artistic 
abilities.  He  was  sent  to  fight  for  a  country  that 
rejected  all  of  his  applications  ever  to  enter  an 


250  One  of  Them 

educational  institution.  His  highest  ambition  was 
to  enter  a  school  of  fine  arts,  and  he  really  showed 
great  promise  through  the  little  portraits  he  would 
paint  while  still  very  young.  But  as  a  Jew,  and, 
still  more,  as  a  penniless  one,  he  never  realized  his 
ambition. 

When  only  seventeen  years  of  age,  he  was  once 
taken  prisoner  in  a  midnight  assailment,  —  that 
was  so  often  practised  by  the  police  on  peacefully 
sleeping  homes,  —  and  was  kept  prisoner  for  three 
months,  then  sent  out  from  Odessa  as  prisoner  es- 
corted by  gendarmes  until  he  reached  home.  He 
was  forever  forbidden  to  be  seen  anywhere  except 
in  his  home  town.  But  my  brother  refused  to  be 
limited,  and  the  police  soon  found  him  either  in 
Kiev  or  Odessa,  and  arrest  after  arrest  followed. 

And  after  all  this  persecution,  they  sent  him  to 
fight  and  kill  —  whom?  Perhaps  another  strug- 
gling Jew  from  Germany,  a  Jew  from  Austria,  from 
Galicia!  He  was  sent  to  kill  people  perhaps  of  his 
own  race.  But  who  are  the  others?  The  German, 
the  Russian,  the  French,  the  Austrian,  and  all  the 
other  soldiers?  If  they  are  not  of  his  race,  they 
belong  to  his  class  —  to  the  class  of  strugglers  who 
toil  and  starve  in  time  of  peace  and  whose  flesh 
will  now  carelessly  rot  in  the  muddy  trenches. 

All  my  cherished  plans  for  the  present  had  to  be 
given  up.   I  had  hoped  to  go  to  Chicago,  and  take 


The  Burden  of  War  251 

up  the  course  in  the  training  school  of  the  Women's 
Trade-Union  League,  but  anxiety  for  my  people  at 
home  compelled  me  to  submit  to  circumstances. 
I  had  to  remain  in  New  York  and  get  work  imme- 
diately, so  as  to  help  them  out  until  that  madness 
was  over.  I  felt  so  sure  that  the  war  would  not 
last  long.  I  cherished  a  blind  hope  that  the  people 
would  not  stand  for  it;  that  they  would  end  the 
war  in  three  or  four  months. 

The  war  had  upset  our  industry.  The  season  is 
usually  in  full  swing  in  the  middle  of  August,  but 
things  seemed  very  uncertain  at  that  time,  and 
a  great  many  manufacturers  were  afraid  to  start. 
The  result  was  that  thousands  of  girls  and  men 
were  walking  around  anxiously  searching  for  work. 
Upon  them,  also,  fell  the  burden  of  war.  Their 
families  in  the  war  countries  were  actually  ruined, 
especially  in  Poland  and  Lithuania,  where  they 
were  driven  from  their  homes  by  the  Russians 
even  before  the  enemy  came.  Their  properties 
were  destroyed  and  the  people  scattered.  The  poor 
girls  ran  around  as  if  in  a  frenzy  from  the  heart- 
breaking news,  but  were  unable  to  help  their  un- 
fortunate parents. 

I  returned  to  my  last  season's  shop  with  a  pre- 
sentiment that  trouble  was  brewing;  which  later 
proved  to  be  true. 

It  had  fallen  to  my  lot  to  become  chairlady  for 
the  next  season.  As  I  had  not  interfered  in  the  shop 


252  One  of  Them 

occurrences  before,  I  was  not  known  to  my  boss, 
so  that  my  election  surprised  him.  He  did  not, 
however,  take  me  very  seriously  —  to  quote  his 
own  language,  I  was  a  "mere  slip  of  a  girl,"  and 
could  easily  be  managed.  In  fact,  judging  from 
my  appearance,  every  one  at  first  took  me  for  a 
little  girl. 

Two  weeks  passed  by  very  peacefully.  The  boss 
said  that  he  liked  my  method  in  representing  the 
people,  and  we  settled  a  great  many  things  agree- 
ably. But  when  I  started  to  find  out  what  was  the 
matter  with  the  test,  that  it  always  came  out  be- 
low the  price  that  the  workers  demanded,  then  my 
troubles  began.  It  very  often  took  us  a  whole  day 
to  bargain  with  the  boss  before  we  could  finally 
come  to  a  satisfactory  agreement,  and  besides 
prices,  there  were  a  great  many  other  things  to 
attend  to. 

There  were  nearly  two  hundred  workers  divided 
into  different  branches  as  operators,  finishers, 
examiners,  ironers,  cleaners,  lace-cutters,  hem- 
stitchers.  Each  branch  had  to  be  carefully  looked 
after.  A  complaint  now  came  from  an  ironer  who 
did  not  receive  the  scale,  now  a  girl  came  late  and 
she  was  sent  away,  now  a  girl  was  discharged  for 
spoiling  something  unintentionally. 

I,  as  shop  representative,  had  to  take  up  every 
grievance  with  the  boss.  If  I  failed  to  settle  the 
matter,  I  had  to  report  and  complain  to  the  union. 


Appeals  for  Help  253 

All  that  required  a  great  deal  of  time,  and  I  was  too 
often  distracted  from  my  machine.  In  the  busiest 
weeks,  when  the  workers  were  making  more  money, 
I  was  kept  busy  straightening  out  difficulties  for 
them.  Thus,  performing  my  duty  as  shop  repre- 
sentative, I  neglected  my  duty  to  myself.  The 
result  was  that  my  pay  envelope  suffered  great 
financial  deficit.  And  here  came  letters  from  home, 
each  more  distressing  than  the  other.  Each  word 
in  the  letters  rose  as  a  cry  for  help,  for  support,  and 
it  nearly  drove  me  insane.  My  father's  home  was 
assailed  frequently.  Things  that  could  be  of  use 
only  to  my  parents  and  the  children  were  taken 
away  by  the  police  —  a  punishment  for  my  broth- 
er's failure  to  appear  for  military  service. 

The  Government  was  slowly  ruining  my  parents' 
home.  That  humble  nest  that  was  created  through 
so  many,  many  years  of  struggle  and  hardship  in 
that  cursed  home  of  bondage!  What  was  I  to  do? 
Neglect  the  shop?  Then  we  should  all  suffer.  No. 
I  was  determined  to  have  order  in  the  shop,  to  get 
everything  that  was  coming  to  the  workers  accord- 
ing to  the  agreement,  to  encourage,  to  show  the 
workers  the  value  of  organization  and  the  strength 
of  unity. 

Our  General  Organization  Committee  had  its 
hands  full  that  season.  A  great  number  of  manu- 
facturers broke  their  agreements  with  the  union. 
Some   of   them   moved   their  factories   away  to 


* 


254  One  of  Them 

Brooklyn,  Newark,  Jersey  City,  and  Hoboken. 
They  found  there  cheap  country  help,  and  intro- 
duced the  section  system  by  which  it  was  easy  to 
train  inexperienced  workers  and  pay  them  the 
smallest  possible  wages,  leaving  the  New  York  or- 
ganized workers  without  positions. 

Those  manufacturers,  who  only  a  year  and  a  half 
ago  had  pledged  themselves,  by  creating  the  "Pro- 
tocol of  Peace"  and  individual  agreements,  to 
recognize  organized  labor,  and,  together  with  the 
union,  raise  the  standards  in  the  industry  —  those 
very  same  people  took  advantage  at  the  first  op- 
portunity to  overthrow  organized  labor,  to  act  in 
their  shops  as  autocrats,  and  to  ignore  the  worker's 
wishes  and  rights. 

We  worked  very  hard  to  organize  those  shops. 
Early  in  the  mornings  and  in  the  evenings  we  — 
a  committee  of  three  and  four  —  would  go  off  to 
such  shops  and  watch  the  workers  at  the  entrance, 
to  speak  and  appeal  to  them.  In  a  great  many 
places  we  succeeded;  in  some  we  were  only  laughed 
at;  in  others  we  were  arrested  for  speaking  to  those 
unorganized  workers. 

I  remember  we  once  went  to  Brooklyn  to  picket 
a  shop  at  seven  in  the  morning.  We  found  three 
officers  and  a  half-dozen  strangers  on  the  spot.  As 
soon  as  a  worker  appeared  in  sight,  before  we  had 
time  to  reach  her,  some  one  of  those  boys  would 
get  ahead  of  us,  and  triumphantly  bring  her  into 


Picketing  in  Brooklyn  255 

the  shop  under  his  protection.  We  were  warned  by 
some  of  them  to  keep  away  if  we  wanted  to  pre- 
serve our  heads. 

"A  black  eye  or  broken  head  is  an  easy  matter 
with  me,  so  you  better  keep  away  from  here,"  said 
one,  when  I  approached  two  girls  whom  he  es- 
corted. 

"Listen  to  me,  boy,  —  I  just  want  to  ask  you  a 
question:  If  your  mother  or  sister  were  working  in 
the  shop,  and  if  they  were  out  on  strike  to  better 
their  life,  would  you  fight  them  for  it?  Don't  you 
see  that  we  mean  no  harm?  We  want  to  speak  to 
the  girls,  to  explain  to  them  that  they  took  away 
the  positions  from  over  a  hundred  girls  who  were 
on  strike  in  New  York." 

But  he  would  not  listen. 

"Hey,  what  do  I  care?  This  is  my  business; 
I  am  paid  for  it,  just  as  you  are  paid  for  your 
work.  I  make  a  living  out  of  it.  If  you  would  pay 
me,  I  would  stand  with  you.  Now,  keep  away,  I 
say." 

"Is  it  right  to  make  a  living  this  way?  To  club 
girls' heads?"  I  went  on  stubbornly.  But  he  would 
not  listen  to  me. 

Another  boy  reached  us  —  he  was  only  a  youth 
with  books  under  his  arm.  He  was  a  high-school 
boy,  and  he,  too,  made  his  spending  money  through 
breaking  strikes,  before  and  after  school.  He  was 
so  young  and  had  such  a  blooming,  handsome  face 


256  One  of  Them 

one  could  hardly  believe  he  already  belongs  to  an 
underworld  gang. 

"Listen,  young  fellow,  are  you  taught  this  kind 
of  profession  in  school?  I  shall  follow  you  to  school 
and  ask  your  principal  if  he  knows  what  you  are 
doing  outside  of  school,"  I  said  to  him  when  he 
pushed  one  of  the  pickets  from  the  sidewalk. 

"And  I'll  cut  your  short  legs  before  you  make 
an  attempt  to  do  it,"  he  replied  triumphantly. 

"Let  her  try,  and  she'll  never  forget  it,"  said 
another. 

I  really  wanted  to  follow  that  boy  to  school,  but 
I  knew  what  I'd  be  apt  to  get,  for  those  boys  usu- 
ally carry  out  their  threats.  I  recalled  that  during 
the  past  two  weeks  some  of  our  girls  had  been 
beaten  by  those  hired  gangsters,  and  I  had  no 
desire  to  have  my  face  bruised. 

The  officers  separated  us  in  order  to  avoid 
trouble.  They  treated  us  rather  fairly.  One  police- 
man called  some  of  us  aside,  giving  us  advice. 

"Now,  girls,  you  know  I  sympathize  with  you, 
and  know  what  you  are  here  for,  but  I  can't  help 
it.  I,  as  an  officer,  must  see  that  order  prevails. 
You  just  don't  stand  in  one  place,  but  walk  back 
and  forth  on  the  sidewalk.  Speak  to  the  girls  while 
walking.  Don't  stop  them,  and  if  that  gang  bothers 
you,  I  shall  show  them  where  to  land." 

I  was  astonished  at  such  talk  from  an  officer.  My 
bitter  experiences  with  policemen  in  former  strikes 


Policemen  and  Strikers  257 

had  made  me  despise  them.  They  very  often 
worked  hand  in  hand  with  the  strike-breakers 
hired  by  the  employers.  While  our  strikers  would 
peacefully  picket  the  shop,  those  guards  would 
often  make  riots,  start  fights,  and  in  the  riots  the 
policemen  would  arrest  innocent  strikers,  accusing 
them  of  making  the  riot. 

It  did  happen  sometimes  that  strikers  in  despera- 
tion made  a  riot,  but  our  union  strongly  forbade 
and  severely  warned  them  against  such  action.  We 
were  always  instructed  to  picket  peacefully;  but 
peaceful  as  we  tried  to  be,  we  were  driven  by  the 
policemen  from  the  sidewalks.  When  I  once  refused 
to  leave  my  post,  for  I  had  done  nothing  against  the 
law,  the  officer  unceremoniously  pushed  me  down. 

I  stood  up  again,  and  argued  with  him,  explain- 
ing that  I  knew  what  I  was  allowed  to  do  and  what 
I  might  not  do,  but  he  cut  me  short. 

"Hey!  I'm  telling  you  to  keep  away  from  here  if 
you  don't  want  to  be  locked  up  —  you  fresh  thing ! " 

"I  know  you  can  lock  me  up  for  no  reason,  just  as 
you  did  a  great  many  of  the  girls,"  said  I  calmly, 
still  keeping  my  place. 

Again  he  pushed  me  down,  lightly  striking  me 
with  his  club. 

I  felt  just  a  little  pain  in  my  shoulder,  but  my 
tears  began  to  flow  just  the  same,  because  I  felt 
hurt,  not  physically,  but  for  being  clubbed  for  no 
reason  at  all. 


258  One  of  Them 

"  You  heartless  brute ! "  I  murmured  through  my 
tears. 

"Run  along  now,  run  along,  unless  you  want  to 
be  arrested,"  he  said  gruffly. 

I  had  no  desire  to  be  locked  up,  for  I  had  my 
duties  in  the  shop.  There  were  a  great  number  of 
new  styles  to  be  settled,  and  the  workers  were  wait- 
ing for  me,  so  I  ran  along  leaving  the  policeman 
victor. 

The  sympathy  shown  to  us  by  the  three  officers 
in  Brooklyn  made  me  forget  all  the  grudges  I  had 
against  police  officers.  They  allowed  us  to  picket, 
and  did  not  interfere  when  we  spoke  to  the  girls  at 
the  entrance.  They  also  watched  the  gangsters  to 
see  that  they  did  not  start  a  fight. 

I  had  no  time  to  breathe  those  days.  From  seven 
to  eight-thirty  in  the  morning  I  was  picketing  un- 
organized shops;  from  eight- thirty  to  five,  I  worked 
in  my  shop;  at  five-thirty  I  was  again  picketing 
shops,  and  at  seven  in  the  evening  I  was  at  the 
union  office  to  report  various  important  matters 
occurring  through  the  day. 

As  I  once  mentioned,  the  commercial  unrest  at 
that  time  caused  a  crisis  in  our  industry,  and  the 
workers  more  than  the  manufacturers  suffered  by 
it.  Only  a  very  few  manufacturers  had  work  for  a 
few  weeks.  Among  them  was  our  firm.  The  latter 
soon  took  advantage  of  the  slack  period.  They 
knew  that  hundreds  of  workers  were  eagerly  look- 


A  Scheme  for  Cheap  Labor        259 

ing  for  work,  and,  hoping  to  get  cheap  labor,  they 
opened  a  new  shop. 

The  new  shop  consisted  of  over  a  hundred  work- 
ers, and  we  immediately  realized  what  it  meant  to 
us.  Our  work  was  being  shifted  to  the  other  shop, 
and  we  began  to  sit  idle  most  of  our  time,  as  there 
was  not  enough  business  for  two  shops.  I  had  no 
objection  to  sharing  the  work  with  the  other  girls 
who  needed  it  as  much  as  any  of  us,  but  I  feared 
that  they  might  accept  a  lower  wage,  thus  becom- 
ing our  competitors. 

I  had  no  doubt  that  the  boss  purposely  opened 
that  shop  to  get  his  work  cheaper,  or  else  he  would 
not  have  gone  into  extra  expenses  when  there  was 
work  enough  for  one  shop  only. 

Fortunately  enough  for  us,  the  girls  of  the*  other 
shop  proved  to  be  conscious  of  our  employer's 
scheme.  They  were  a  true  collection  of  workers 
thrown  out  from  various  shops  for  their  union  ac- 
tivity, and,  as  such,  they  were  harmless  to  us.  They 
also  selected  a  chairlady  and  a  price  committee, 
who  immediately  communicated  with  us,  and  we 
demanded  from  our  boss  that  the  same  prices  for 
the  same  garments  should  be  paid  in  both  shops. 
We  refused  to  deal  separately.  Our  boss  accused 
me  of  being  the  responsible  person  in  the  shop  — 
for  disturbing  their  daily  routine  and  causing  them 
trouble.  He  claimed  that  we  had  no  right  to  in- 
terfere with  the  other  shop.  But  my  answer  to  him 


260  One  of  Them 

was  that  if  he  opened  a  shop  for  the  purpose  of  tak- 
ing away  our  work,  so  as  to  compel  us  to  accept 
cheaper  prices,  we  had  a  full  right  to  protest  against 
such  unjust  action  and  prevent  him  from  taking 
advantage  of  us. 

To  prevent  our  working  jointly,  my  boss  tried  to 
bribe  the  workers  in  the  other  shop,  offering  them  a 
bigger  price  on  certain  garments,  if  they  would  only 
not  communicate  with  us,  but  the  workers  refused. 
We  demanded  the  same  treatment  and  system  in 
both  shops  as  long  as  they  belonged  to  one  firm  and 
the  same  work  was  done. 

Our  higher  bosses  raged  at  me,  thinking  that  it 
was  only  I  who  was  responsible  for  those  demands. 
But  I  was  the  shop  representative,  and  spoke  not 
only  for  myself.  I  expressed  the  wish  of  all  the 
workers  in  my  shop.  Still  they  treated  me  worse 
than  the  others.  They  tried  to  rid  themselves  of 
me,  thinking  that  with  me  out  of  the  way,  they 
would  accomplish  their  task,  and  at  the  first  oppor- 
tunity I  was  fired.  But  I  was  taken  back  the  same 
day,  for  as  soon  as  I  took  my  hat  ready  to  leave  the 
shop,  the  rush,  the  noise  of  the  machines,  suddenly 
stopped.  Everything  came  to  a  standstill.  Over 
two  hundred  workers  folded  their  hands,  quietly 
protesting  against  the  firm's  action.  They  refused 
to  resume  work  until  their  shop  delegate  returned 
—  and  I  was  taken  back  the  same  day.  I  met  the 
committee  of  the  other  shop  every  day,  and  we 


Cooperation  of  Workers  261 

succeeded  in  working  jointly  in  spite  of  the  oppo- 
sition on  the  part  of  our  boss.  He  made  it  harder 
for  us  from  day  to  day.  Times  were  very  bad  for 
the  manufacturers,  so  they  made  them  still  worse  for 
the  workers. 


CHAPTER  XX 

AS  their  efforts  for  getting  cheap  labor  proved 
a  failure,  my  bosses  decided  to  close  up  the 
new  shop.  We  were  now  confronted  with  a  new  and 
very  serious  problem.  I  knew  it  Would  be  useless  to 
urge  my  boss  to  keep  up  that  new  shop  when  rent 
was  so  high,  power  expensive,  and  all  the  work 
there  was  could  easily  be  made  in  one  shop.  Now 
those  girls  who  so  sympathetically  cooperated  with 
us  would  lose  their  jobs  in  the  midst  of  the  dull 
season.  I  shuddered  with  fear.  I  knew  what  it 
would  mean  to  them  to  wander  around  in  search 
of  work  when  the  next  season  was  ten  weeks  ahead. 
Why  should  they  be  thrown  out,  why  should  they 
have  to  suffer?  Our  duty  was  to  share  to  the  last 
with  them.  I  held  a  council  for  that  purpose  with 
a  committee  from  the  other  shop,  and  we  resolved 
to  suggest  to  our  boss  that  as  soon  as  he  closed  up 
that  shop  he  should  allow  us  to  divide  the  work 
equally  with  the  girls  who  had  been  working  there; 
that  is,  three  days  for  us  and  three  days  for  the 
others,  so  that  while  we  stayed  out,  the  other  girls 
would  use  our  machines,  and  there  would  be  no 
extra  expense  to  the  boss.  We  would  so  share  our 
work  until  the  slack  season  was  over,  when  those 
girls  could  find  other  jobs. 


Competing  Workers  263 

To  my  great  delight,  the  boss  consented  to  our 
plan,  and  I  immediately  called  a  meeting  of  both 
shops  to  inform  them  of  the  good  news  and  make 
preparations  for  the  change.  But,  oh,  how  great 
was  my  astonishment,  how  deeply  hurt  and  disap- 
pointed I  felt,  when  the  workers  of  my  shop,  with 
only  a  few  exceptions,  refused  to  share  the  work 
with  the  others. 

"Friends,"  I  exclaimed  in  great  excitement,  "I 
am  shocked,  deeply  shocked  at  your  refusal.  You 
all  know  what  has  been  going  on  this  season,  due 
to  the  outbreak  of  this  war  that  caused  a  panic  in 
our  trade,  but  more  due  to  the  ignorance  of  so  many 
workers  in  our  industry  who  refuse  to  join  our 
ranks,  who  do  not  realize  the  value  of  organization 
for  themselves.  They  are  living  below  human 
standards;  they  slave  for  practically  no  wages;  and 
moreover,  they  are  competing  with  us  organized 
workers  when  we  so  desperately  are  trying  to  better 
our  bitter  lot.  It  is  due  to  them  that  we  have  so 
much  trouble  in  our  shop,  on  which  our  daily  exist- 
ence depends. 

"Our  bosses  are  keeping  shops  for  no  ideals,  but 
for  business !  Their  anxiety  is  concentrated,  not  on 
giving  employment  to  workers,  but  on  the  amount 
of  profit  they  can  clear  from  their  workers;  for  one 
more  nickel  on  a  garment  we  sometimes  bargain 
away  a  whole  morning.  That  is  also  due  to  those 
unorganized  workers  in  other  shops  who  accept  a 


1/ 


264  One  of  Them 

cheaper  price,  who  work  longer  hours.  I  do  not 
want  to  condemn  those  workers.  I  know  they  often 
repine  of  their  bitter  fate.  They  also  would  like 
decent  homes,  decent  clothes,  shorter  working 
hours,  and  to  live  like  human  beings,  but  they  are 
ignorant,  they  do  not  know  how  to  change  their 
hard  existence.  They  blindly  hope  for  miracles  to 
happen  and  lighten  their  burden., 

"But  our  miracle  is  in  our  unity.  In  our  shop  I 
fought  very  hard  for  every  bit  we  were  to  get.  And 
we  averted  a  lot  of  trouble  because  we  stood  united. 
I  have  proved  to  you  that  only  through  unity  can 
we  help  ourselves,  but  not  unity  among  workers  in 
only  one  shop.  We  must  be  united  with  all  the 
workers  in  all  the  shops  throughout  the  industry. 
We  must  help  one  another  to  the  last. 

"When  our  boss  opened  up  that  new  shop,  he 
hoped  to  get  cheap  help,  and  if  he  only  succeeded, 
he  would  close  up  our  shop  and  rid  himself  of  all  of 
us,  for  it  pays  him  better  to  keep  workers  who  are 
afraid  to  contradict  him.  But  fortunately  for  us, 
the  girls  proved  to  be  sympathetic.  They  treated  us 
with  sisterly  interest.  We  united,  and  they  helped 
us  to  right  to  preserve  our  standards.  Now,  when 
even  the  boss  permits  us  to  share  the  work,  will  you 
refuse?  Have  you  a  right  to  refuse  those  who 
helped  you?  Will  you  let  those  girls  go  now,  in  the 
midst  of  the  slack  season?  Did  not  any  of  you  here 
ever  experience  a  slack  season  and  taste  its  bitter- 


To  Share  or  Not  to  Share    265 

ness?  I  tell  you  again  and  again  that  it  is  our  duty, 
our  human  duty,  to  share  our  work  until  they  are 
able  to  find  other  jobs!" 

There  was  a  short  silence.  A  dark-eyed  young 
girl  stood  up  asking  for  permission  to  talk. 

"The  chairlady,  upon  my  word,  made  a  very 
good  speech,  but  we  ain't  goin'  to  make  a  livin'  on 
speeches.  We  did  n't  had  much  work  this  season, 
and  since  that  shop  opened,  we  ain't  got  a  stitch  o' 
work.  Don't  we  need  to  make  a  livin'  too?  We  did 
not  make  much  of  a  livin'  this  season.  There  ain't 
enough  work  for  all  of  us,  and  we  can't  help  them. 
We  are  sorry  for  the  girls,  but  it  ain't  our  fault  that 
the  boss  opened  a  shop." 

"Dat's  right!  Dat's  right!"  the  girls  shouted 
from  all  around  in  different  dialects.  "We  got  no 
work  ourselves;  we  can't  give  them  three  days  of 
our  week.  We  don't  make  enough  for  our  board 
these  days!" 

When  the  noise  subsided,  another  girl  stood  up, 
a  tall,  pale-faced,  very  neat-looking  person. 

"What  I  want  to  ask  you  is  this "  —  she  turned 
to  the  last  speaker.  "What  if  the  boss  did  not  close 
that  shop?  Would  there  be  more  work?  He  closed 
it  for  his  benefit,  not  for  yours.  How  would  you 
like  to  stay  out  of  a  job?  What  I  say  is  this  —  we 
should  divide  as  much  work  as  there  is  among  all 
of  us.  It  is  not  fair,  it  is  selfish  to  think  only  of 
yourself  in  such  bad  times.  I  make  a  motion  to  take 


266  One  of  Them 

it  to  a  vote,  and  any  girl  who  has  any  common  sense 
and  any  feelings  will  vote  right!" 

All  that  time  the  girls  of  the  other  shop  were 
sitting  quietly  in  one  corner,  restlessly  waiting  for 
the  decision.  Their  faces  turned  pale  when  the  first 
girl  began  to  speak.  Now  they  were  looking  up 
disgustedly,  waiting  for  the  vote  to  be  over. 

"Let's  have  a  secret  vote,"  some  one  suggested. 

"Why,  are  you  ashamed  to  say  'no'  in  the  open?" 
a  girl  of  the  other  shop  inquired  sarcastically. 

"A  secret  vote,  a  secret  vote,"  a  few  more  sug- 
gested. 

But  I  refused  them. 

"You  shall  not  have  the  closed  vote.  If  you  are 
not  ashamed  to  act  against  those  girls,  you  shall  not 
be  ashamed  to  do  so  in  their  presence.  I  want  you 
to  think  it  over  for  a  few  minutes.  Don't  do  to 
others  what  you  would  not  like  them  to  do  to  you. 

"Now,  all  who  are  in  favor  of  having  the  other 
shop  with  us,  please  raise  your  hands." 

My  heart  slowly  went  down,  when  hands  went 
up.  I  counted.  Sixteen  hands,  while  there  were 
over  a  hundred  girls. 

"Against,"  I  stammered.  Up  went  hands,  many, 
many  hands.  It  seemed  to  me  they  were  uncon- 
sciously destroying  something  so  very  dear,  some- 
thing so  very  noble,  something  which  thousands 
of  workers  are  bitterly  fighting  for,  are  sacrificing 
their  lives  for,  —  Unity,  Equality,  and  Justice! 


A  Selfish  Decision  267 

I  sank  in  my  chair  full  of  embitterment.  I  felt 
as  if  they  had  pronounced  a  verdict  of  "starva- 
tion" upon  those  girls,  and  I  felt  ashamed,  ashamed 
to  look  up  at  them. 

"Am  I  allowed  to  say  something?"  came  a  voice 
from  the  corner,  and  up  rose  a  worker  of  the  other 
shop  —  a  girl  of  about  twenty-seven,  with  big, 
deep-blue,  round  eyes,  hollow  cheeks,  nicely  shaped 
but  bloodless  lips,  a  well-formed  nose,  and  above 
all,  a  wealth  of  beautiful  blonde  hair,  which  framed 
her  delicate  and  one-time  beautiful  face.  She  was 
on  the  committee  and  I  knew  her  well.  I  was  very 
much  interested  in  her.  She  was  only  twenty-seven, 
and  everybody  spoke  of  her  as  of  a  passed  beauty, 
as  if  she  were  forty.  I  often  thought  of  her,  and 
through  my  own  experiences  I  well  imagined  what 
a  hard  life  she  must  have  had  being  a  shopgirl, 
when,  with  all  her  heart  and  soul,  she  protested 
against  the  exploitation  of  the  miserable  wage- 
earners. 

"You  have  the  floor  now,"  I  said. 

"Chairlady  and  dear  friends  "  —  she  pronounced 
the  last  words  sarcastically,  "I  did  not  want  to 
speak  before  you  gave  out  your  decision,  so  as  not 
to  sway  your  mind.  I  wanted  you  to  act  with  your 
own  clear  conscience.  Now,  when  all  is  over,  allow 
me  to  tell  you  something:  I'm  nine  years  in  this 
country,  nine  years  in  the  same  trade,  and  for  nine 
years  I  had  not  one  happy  day.  Few  of  you  know 


268  One  of  Them 

what  a  shop  of  eight  or  nine  years  ago  was  like;  few 
of  you  here  remember  how  we  worked  at  that  time: 
sixty  and  seventy  hours  a  week  in  sweat-shops  — • 
sweat-shops  worse  than  hell!  For  nine  long  years 
I  fought  against  such  hell;  for  all  these  miserable 
years,  I,  together  with  so  many  others,  went  on  agi- 
tating, explaining  in  what  hell  we  lived.  We  wanted 
to  live  like  human  beings;  we  wanted  to  be  treated 
like  human  beings;  we  wanted  to  be  united,  to  be 
on  friendly  terms,  to  work  in  solidarity, — for  sol- 
idarity, my  friends,  was  at  that  time  a  thing  un- 
imaginable. 

"In  need  of  money,  the  workers  would  hunt  for  a 
bigger  share  of  work,  often  bribing  the  foreman  of 
the  place,  or  any  one  who  had  charge  of  giving  out 
work.  In  smaller  places,  where  the  boss  himself 
took  charge,  they  worked  for  less  than  the  others, 
in  order  to  get  more  work.  One  competed  against 
another,  and  each  considered  the  other  an  enemy. 
And  we,  for  organizing  the  workers,  were  fired  from 
the  shops,  and  it  took  us  weeks  until  we  were  able 
to  find  other  jobs,  only  to  be  thrown  out  again  in 
a  short  time.  A  great  many  of  us  were  black-listed, 
and  were  not  able  to  find  jobs  at  all.  We  have  suf- 
fered —  suffered  with  the  hope  that  we  will  gain  in 
the  end.  That  was  nine,  six,  and  even  four  years 
ago. 

"  Now,  when  we  have  a  union  of  nearly  two  thirds 
of  the  industry,  when  we  have  a  so-called  '  Protocol 


The  Danger  of  Indifference       269 

of  Peace  -  and  other  agreements  with  the  bosses  to 
protect  the  workers,  we  —  the  active,  loyal  union 
members  —  are  not  much  better  off.  We  are  still 
thrown  from  the  shops.  < 

"True,  the  bosses  are  not  as  free  to  fire  us  as  they 
were  a  few  years  ago,  but  they  are  applying  all  sorts 
of  schemes  to  get  rid  of  the  active  members.  The 
first  year  after  the  last  strike,  conditions  were  all 
right.  The  workers  were  enthusiastic,  and  the  em- 
ployers saw  that  they  dealt  with  united  people,  but 
little  by  little,  the  workers  cooled  off.  They  thought 
that  by  having  the  protocol  they  would  be  pro- 
tected, and  ceased  paying  their  dues,  ceased  to  at- 
tend shop  meetings,  where  they  could  get  fresh 
impressions.  They  ceased  to  take  part  in  the  shop 
activities.  They  left  everything  to  one  chairlady. 
The  employers  soon  noticed  their  indifference  and 
took  advantage  of  it  —  they  began  to  cut  down 
prices,  violate  minimum  scales,  violate  hours  of 
labor  as  in  the 'good  old  times.'  The  active  mem- 
bers protested,  and  their  lives  were  made  mis- 
erable. 

"Ask  any  one  of  us  here,  and  she'll  tell  where 
she  came  from.  One  lost  her  job  for  being  on  the 
price  committee;  another  for  being  chairlady;  still 
others  lost  their  jobs  because  their  firm  closed  up 
the  shop,  giving  out  the  work  to  contractors  who 
get  cheap  help.  This  season,  that  has  been  so  bad 
for  the  entire  industry,  affected  us  the  worst.  For 


270  One  of  Them 

the  last  four  months,  we  had  no  more  than  six 
weeks  of  work,  and  mostly  all  of  us  have  to  support 
families.  Some  must  help  their  families  who  were 
the  first  war  sufferers.  We  went  into  debt,  with  no 
idea  when  we  would  be  able  to  repay.  What  are  we 
to  do  now?  We  know  that  you  also  earned  very 
little,  but  little  is  better  than  nothing  in  time  of  a 
crisis.  If  we  had  acted  before  as  you  did  now,  we 
would  have  kept  our  jobs.  If  we  did  not  care  for 
you,  and  had  accepted  lower  wages,  what  would 
you  do  now?  You  would  have  stayed  out  now! 
But  we  sympathized  with  you;  we  considered  you 
our  sisters,  and  did  not  want  to  injure  you.  We 
fought  for  equality,  we  fought  for  a  better  life,  and 
if  we  had  no  sympathy  from  our  employer  it  was 
because  we  interfered  with  his  business.  But  to 
have  no  sympathy  from  you  is  a  shame,  shame! 
With  your  actions,  you  discourage  all  union  feel- 
ings. Others  in  our  place  would  surely  scab  on 
you! 

"You  leave  us  now,  and  don't  care,  because  you 
cannot  feel  what  it  means  to  go  around  idle.  Shame ! 
Shame!  You  are  an  ignorant  lot.  You  are  igno- 
rant!" She  stopped,  her  mouth  foaming,  her  eyes 
burning  with  excitement. 

They  all  stood  up  at  once.  "Shame!  Shame!" 
suddenly  broke  out  in  a  roar  of  voices,  deafening 
the  room.  I  fell  back  on  my  chair,  weakened  with 
exhaustion.   That  was  a  cry  full  of  protest,  a  cry 


Shame!  Shame!  271 

of  disgust,  a  fearful  cry  of  hungry,  starved,  wronged 
voices.  An  army  of  girls,  who  create  wealth,  ready 
and  willing  to  do  the  best  for  the  world;  and  the 
world  for  them?  —  nothing! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

DOWNHEARTED,  broken  with  disappoint- 
ment, my  mind  confusedly  wandering,  I 
dragged  myself  home.  Is  this  what  I  have  been 
working  so  hard  for,  giving  away  my  entire  time 
for  the  workers  in  my  shop,  developing  in  them 
the  spirit  of  unity,  of  brotherhood  and  sisterhood  — 
But,  after  all,  are  they  to  blame?  They  had  not  a 
full  week's  wages  since  the  season  started.  They 
also  lived  in  great  want. 

Oh,  that  eternal  repetition  —  slack,  busy;  busy, 
slack!  My  head  grew  overburdened  with  heaping 
up  broken  thoughts.  Justice,  rights,  wrongs, 
united  force,  organization,  fight  for  equality, 
humanity  —  all  these  straight  and  crooked  letters 
began  to  dance  before  my  eyes,  up  and  down  and 
around,  mingling  together,  losing  shape  and  form. 
My  head  could  not  accommodate  them  freely  and 
assort  them  coolly.  Everything  appeared  to  be  a 
farce  —  this  present  world  a  farce,  life  around  me 
a  farce.  Nothing  was  real.  What's  to-morrow,  or 
a  day  after  to-morrow?  What  is  there  in  all  these 
coming  days  and  months?  Where  is  the  solution  of 
misery?  Where  —  where?  Does  it  pay  to  live,  after 
all?  Work,  work,  and  never  earning  enough  for  a 
living !   Eternal  worry  —  how  to  make  ends  meet. 


Does  it  Pay  to  Live?  273 

Work  in  theory  is  noble.  It  is  praised  by  poets, 
priests,  and  high  authorities.  I  believe  in  the  noble- 
ness of  work,  and  want  to  work,  but  I  also  believe 
that  those  who  work  are  worthy  of  the  rewards  of 
their  labor;  those  are  the  ones  worthy  of  respect 
and  admiration.  But  if  we  do  not  get  that,  does 
it  pay  to  work?  If  I  am  not  able  to  find  justice, 
what  do  I  want  to  live  for?  Does  it  pay  to  live? 
Does  it  pay?  — 

As  those  hopeless  thoughts  kept  on  pouring  into 
my  mind,  I  discovered  myself  watching  the  gas- 
lamp,  its  pipe  circling  over  the  table. 

I  was  all  alone  in  my  room;  alone  in  my  silent 
emptiness.  In  the  stillness  of  the  evening  how  easy 
it  would  be  just  to  put  the  pipe  into  my  mouth, 
one,  two,  three  minutes,  and  then  anguish  will  die 
away.  No  more  will  my  heart  be  gnawing,  no  more 
will  I  rack  my  brains,  no  more  will  my  soul  cry  out 
in  despair;  free  will  my  spirit  be  from  the  clutches 
of  misery,  free  of  that  gnawing,  gnawing  pain  of 
injustice  —  one  —  two  —  three  —  and  a  cold,  life- 
less body  will  stretch  on  the  floor.  It  will  be  buried 
somewhere  in  a  lonely  place,  and  soon  —  very 
soon  —  the  worms  will  eat  into  the  flesh  until 
nothing  will  be  left.  Br-r-r —  what  an  ugliness! 
What  an  ugliness! 

But  what  difference  does  it  make  —  worms  eat- 
ing my  flesh  or  human  exploiters  eating  my  free- 
dom, my  youth,  my  strength,  my  happiness  — 


274  One  of  Them 

one  —  two  —  three,  and  all  will  end.  No  more  will 
I  see  the  workers  toiling,  no  more  will  I  see  them 
starving,  no  more  will  I  fight  for  human  conditions 
—  but  no,  how  can  I  do  it?  I  dare  not  deprive  them 
of  my  life;  my  parents  in  the  war  country,  my  little 
sisters,  my  brothers  in  the  cursed  war;  they  do  not 
want  me  to  die.  They  need  me,  they  want  me  to 
live  —  But  why  do  I  need  parents,  and  brothers 
and  sisters,  to  worry  about  them?  Who  imposed 
them  all  on  me?  Would  it  not  be  better  if  I  had 
none  of  them,  if  I  was  alone,  belonging  all  to  my- 
self, and  had  no  duties  to  anybody?  Why  should 
I  live  and  suffer,  just  because  my  death  will  hurt 
my  parents?  Why  can't  I  shake  off  all  the  misery, 
all  the  pain  that  possesses  me?  Why  can't  I  die 
when  that  will  relieve  me  ? 

But  another  voice,  strong  and  severe,  full  of 
reproach,  rose  within  me,  and  awakened  me  from 
my  dark  brooding.  I  stood  up,  but  my  head  bent 
down  with  heaviness,  my  body  was  feeble,  and  I 
fell  back  half  fainting  — 

I  was  startled  with  a  feeling  of  something  very 
cool  on  my  forehead,  and  opened  my  eyes.  Near 
me  stood  Ida,  one  of  my  shopmates,  holding  her 
cold  hand  on  my  forehead  and  watching  me 
anxiously. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  come  here?  "  I  inquired 
in  surprise. 

"Why,  you  poor  kid,  J  seen  you  at  the  meeting 


Ida's  Theory  275 

this  afternoon.  You  did  not  look  like  yourself  at  all. 
You  was  so  nervous,  irritated,  and  pale,  like  a  ghost. 
Well,  I  thought  to  myself,  something  is  the  matter 
with  her,  but  I  ain't  going  to  ask  her,  for  it 's  none 
of  my  business;  so  I  went  home.  But  I  worried 
about  you  and  could  not  eat  my  supper,  so  I  came 
to  see  what  you  was  doing.  I  been  watching  you 
for  ten  minutes  now.  You  was  breathing  so 
heavy  and  your  face  was  so  unhappy,  that  I 
thought  you  have  a  very  bad  dream,  so  I  put  my 
hand  on  your  head  to  wake  you —  What's  the 
matter  with  you?  Are  you  sick?"  she  inquired 
anxiously. 

"No,  Ida,  I  don't  think  I'm  sick.  How  late  is 
it,  please?" 

"It's  already  seven  o'clock." 

"Only  seven!"  I  wondered;  "it  seems  as  if  it 
were  a  long,  long  time  since  I  last  saw  you  at  the 
meeting.  Sit  down  near  me,  Ida,  and  talk  to  me 
a  little.  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  me 
these  days,  but  I  seem  to  fall  into  such  peculiar 
moods.  A  sea  full  of  absurd  thoughts  is  constantly 
arising  in  my  mind.  They  envelop  my  brain,  they 
begin  to  rebel,  deafening  my  ear  with  their  noise. 
This  weakens  me  so  that  I  grow  unconscious  for 
a  while.  It  is  happening  so  often  that,  really,  I'm 
afraid  I  should  lose  my  mind  altogether." 

"Oh,  stop  that  nonsense.  I,  too,  was  feeling  so 
bad  once  upon  a  time.   It's  nothing  but  loneliness. 


276  One  of  Them 

I  remember,  when  I  used  to  come  home  from  work 
so  tired  and  there  was  n't  nobody  to  give  me  as 
much  as  a  smile.  From  all  the  trouble  that  I  used 
to  have  in  the  shop,  I  used  to  come  home  and  put 
my  head  in  the  cushion  and  cry  the  whole  evening. 
I  lived  with  strangers,  and  strangers  don't  bother 
much  with  you.  But  since  I  got  married,  it's  all 
over.  You  see,  I  did  not  care  for  money.  I  love  my 
husband  and  we  are  both  working.  We  furnished 
a  little  apartment,  and  now  I  got  my  own  little 
home,  and  somebody  who  likes  me  and  thinks 
about  me,  I'm  not  lonely  any  more.  I  tell  you, 
you  ought  to  get  married,  take  it  from  me.  You  're 
lonely,  that's  all  the  matter  with  you.'*- 

I  smiled  at  her  authority.  How  naive  she  seemed. 
She  really  believed  that  I  was  nothing  but  lonely, 
and  all  I  needed  was  to  get  married. 

"Does  nothing  else  worry  you,  Ida?  The  shop, 
its  conditions,  the  surroundings,  your  work?"  I 
asked. 

"Oh,  well,  what  good  will  it  do  me  if  I  worry? 
What  can  we  workers  do?  Take  my  word  —  it 
does  n't  pay  to  worry.  I  can't  change  this  world. 
We  make  our  living  somehow."  (As  an  operator  on 
waists  she  was  extremely  quick  and  always  made 
more  money  than  the  average  worker.  Among  the 
two  hundred  of  our  workers  there  were  only  five 
or  six  who  were  so  quick,  and  in  busy  time,  they 
could  make  good  money.    Now,  in  slack  time,  she 


Thoughts  on  Birth  Control'       277 

tried  to  get  along  on  her  husband's  scanty  earn- 
ings.) 

"What  would  you  do,  Ida,  if  you  had  a  child 
and  could  not  go  to  work?  Would  your  husband's 
wages  be  sufficient  for  you?" 

"I  should  say  not,"  Ida  retorted.  "But  I  ain't 
going  to  have  no  children  until  my  husband  can 
make  enough  for  us." 

"Bless  you,  Ida,"  I  said  approvingly.  "Oh,  how 
I  wish  that  all  those  miserable  wage-earners  should 
stop  breeding  human  stock  until  they  can  abolish 
poverty,  until  they  can  abolish  slums,  until  they 
can  make  their  government  provide  for  them  a 
human  standard  of  living  and  treat  them  like 
worthy  citizens;  for  no  government,  no  country, 
can  ever  exist  without  workers.  The  workers  are 
the  basis  of  a  rich  country,  they  are  the  creators  of 
all  the  wealth,  and  they  are  to  be  benefited  by  their 
work.  I  think  if  all  the  workers  of  all  the  trades 
and  industries  agreed  to  refuse  to  have  children  — 
this  would  be  the  most  successful  strike.  If  they 
only  would  refuse  to  have  children,  until  human 
beings  are  considered  higher  than  money,  and  too 
good  for  dirty  slums!" 

"I  t'ink  so,  too,  but  do  you  believe  this  will  ever 
happen?  Eh,  you  foolish  dreamer!"  Ida  replied 
kindly.  "Now,  until  your  workers  will  stop  bring- 
ing children,  won't  you  have  something  to  eat? 
I'll  bring  you  up  anything  you  like  to  get." 


278  One  of  Them 

She  went  down,  and  was  back  in  a  few  minutes. 

"A  gentleman  is  asking  for  you,"  she  said 
breathlessly. 

"Oh,  yes,  a  friend  of  mine.  I  forgot  all  about  the 
appointment  I  made  with  him  for  this  evening. 
Tell  him  to  come  right  in." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  she  retorted  significantly,  and  went 
to  open  the  door. 

My  friend  entered,  slightly  alarmed  at  my  con- 
dition. He  was  an  old  admirer  of  whom  I  had  lost 
track  over  a  year  ago,  when  he  suddenly  left  town, 
and  I  never  heard  from  him  until  he  had  recently 
returned.  From  our  conversations  since  his  return, 
I  discovered  that  he  purposely  disappeared  from 
my  sight,  so  as  to  give  me  time  enough  to  think, 
and  now  he  came  back  to  assure  himself  of  the  hopes 
that  he  cherished  for  two  years.  1  liked  him,  and 
had  much  sympathy  for  him,  but  as  his  earnest 
pleas  to  answer  his  love  became  too  frequent,  I  grew 
tired  of  his  presence  and  tried  to  avoid  him.  I  was 
therefore  amazed  to  feel  that  I  received  him  rather 
with  a  gleam  of  joy  that  evening.  What  made  me 
feel  so  pleased,  I  did  not  understand. 

Ida  immediately  found  herself  a  third  party. 
She  put  her  hat  on  and  under  the  pretence  that  her 
husband  was  lonely,  she  told  us  good-night,  her 
eyes  twinkling  meaningly  at  me. 

"Lisa,  what  happened?  Are  you  sick?"  he  in- 
quired anxiously,  sitting  beside  me  when  the  door 


An  Offer  of  Escape  279 

closed  behind  Ida.  "Something  is  surely  the  matter 
with  you.  I  wish  so  much  I  could  comfort  you 
and  relieve  your  pain.  You  need  a  rest.  You  need 
to  leave  the  city.  You  need  to  be  out  of  the  noise. 
Why  not  come  with  me  — " 

And  on  he  went,  making  proposals,  working  out 
plans,  promising  to  do  everything  in  his  power  to 
make  me  happy. 

I  sat  silently  listening  to  him,  and  as  he  pictured 
to  me  the  happiness  of  our  future  married  life, 
I  began  to  feel  a  little  agitated  by  his  illusions,  but 
that  was  only  an  impulse.  I  realized  immediately 
how  absurd  it  was.  It  could  never  be  as  he  imag- 
ined, because  he  was  a  poor,  exploited  wage-earner; 
but  more  because  I  did  not  love  him. 

It  was  only  a  short  time  after  the  other  shop  was 
given  up,  when  we,  too,  were  left  without  work. 
We  were  now  assembled  in  the  shop  every  day, 
eagerly  waiting  for  bundles  that  might  by  chance 
come  in.  The  boss  suggested  that  we  reduce  our 
prices  on  labor,  so  that  he  might  get  some  orders 
at  a  cheaper  rate.  That  we  refused  to  do,  for  we 
knew  the  bitter  results  following  the  reductions  in 
prices. 

Weeks  wore  on,  and  no  orders  came  in.  We  were 
already  tired  out  with  the  dulness,  and  with  fear 
we  met  each  new-coming  day  that  brought  us  no 
work.   Having  nothing  to  do,  we  would  gather  in 


280  One  of  Them 

groups  near  our  machines  and  tell  our  troubles  — 
the  main  theme  being  the  war.  Nearly  all  had 
families  or  relations  either  in  Poland,  Lithuania, 
or  Galicia,  who  were  ruined  by  the  war,  and  whom 
these  girls  had  to  help.  Until  now,  they  had  de- 
prived themselves  of  necessities  and  shared  their 
scanty  earnings  with  their  unfortunate  relatives, 
but  now  there  was  nothing  they  could  share. 
Their  own  board  and  rent  were  not  paid,  and  even 
their  car-fare  was  often  borrowed. 

Our  boss  also  was  very  restless  and  we  perceived 
that  something  was  to  happen  soon.  And  so  it  did. 
He  announced,  with  great  regret,  however,  that 
the  shop  would  close  up  —  so  the  firm  decided. 
From  a  long  conversation  with  him,  I  learned  that 
he  also  was  a  victim  of  the  firm. 

They  had  saved  him  from  bankruptcy  once,  and 
took  him  into  partnership,  buying  his  name.  Now, 
after  one  year  of  partnership,  they  were  pushing 
him  out  without  his  name! 

"I'd  never  thought  they'd  double-cross  me  so," 
he  said  bitterly. 

Indeed,  the  other  bosses  acted  meanly  against 
him.  Of  all  of  them  he  was  the  fairest  and  they 
did  not  like  him  for  it.  They  thought  he  was  too 
good  to  the  employees  and  that  was  against  their 
principles. 

I  was  very  sorry  for  my  boss,  who  was  one  of  the 
very  few  who  did  not  oppose  workers'  union,  but 


Becoming  Hardened  281 

still  more  sorry  that  the  shop  closed  up,  for  we 
knew  that  the  firm  would  reopen  it  soon  with  other 
workers,  unorganized  and  cheaply  paid. 

Sure  enough,  the  shop  was  moved  to  another 
district,  and  reopened  the  next  month,  with  only  a 
few  of  the  old  workers,  mostly  those  who  were  never 
brave  enough  to  express  their  discontent.  All  of 
us  who  were  loyal  union  members  and  stood  for  our 
rights  were  never  taken  back.  This  was  a  method 
very  much  in  style  with  the  manufacturers  to  get 
rid  of  active  members.  They  called  it  reorganiza- 
tion of  their  business,  and  as  the  employers  have  a 
right  to  reorganize,  we  were  often  helpless  against 
them. 

My  search  for  work  began  as  soon  as  our  factory 
closed.  There  were  now  armies  of  us  going  around 
idle  and  we  saw  few  prospects  of  getting  more  work. 
But  I  got  into  the  habit  of  wandering  around, 
and  each  morning  a  precious  nickel  brought  me 
downtown,  where  I  paced  the  city  streets,  absent- 
mindedly. 

Swamped  in  that  unemployed  army  of  half- 
starved,  worn-out  working-girls,  I  gradually  under- 
went a  change.  I  no  more  experienced  that  shud- 
dering fear  against  slack  and  starvation  as  in  the 
former  seasons.  I  seemed  to  have  grown  accus- 
tomed to  it.  Instead  of  fear,  I  felt  disgust,  and  I 
became  hardened  with  apathetic  indifference;  my 


282  One  of  Them 

room  and  books  lost  all  interest  for  me.  I  had  not 
read  a  book  in  weeks.  Morning  and  evening  I 
wandered  around  peeping  into  bright  corners  of 
Broadway,  gay  entrances  to  cabarets,  through 
which  crowds  were  constantly  pouring,  to  plunge 
and  whirl  in  the  wild,  blustering  orgies  of  carnality. 
I  peeped  into  the  dark,  dirty  Bowery  slums,  into 
the  infested-with-white-slavery  Fourteenth  Street 
—  in  fact  I  peeped  everywhere,  often  with  careless- 
ness, often  with  sheer  curiosity. 

There  were  two  things  that  still  stirred  my  blood 

and  painfully  pierced  through  rny  heart  and  soul. 

They   were   the   bread-lines   and   the   flourishing 

)  traffic  in  live  souls  that  is  so  openly  performed  in 

the  streets  of  a  city  with  high  moral  laws ! 

I  more  than  once  watched  the  bread-line,  in  cold, 
often  stormy  evenings,  when  the  long  row  of  shabby, 
half -naked  beggars  cuddled  up,  pressing  tight  to  each 
other  to  protect  themselves  against  the  wind,  stamp- 
ing energetically  with  their  feet,  going  through  all 
sorts  of  contortions  to  warm  themselves,  while  wait- 
ing through  the  long  hours  until  a  door  would  open 
at  last  and  a  "generous  hand"  would  endow  each 
one  in  turn  with  a  dry  bread-crust  and  watery  cup 
of  coffee. 

I  saw  another  bread-line  one  night  up  at  Eleventh 
Street,  where  no  coffee,  only  dry  bread  and  scoldings 
were  given.  Six  men  happened  to  be  late  and  the 
old  man  who  gave  out  the  bread  frowned  at  them. 


The  Bread-Line  283 

"You  lazy  things,  —  don't  you  know  that  if  you 
want  to  get  bread  you  must  come  in  line  at  ten 
o'clock.  I  counted  only  fifty,  and  cut  bread  for 
that  many.  Now  you'll  have  to  wait  till  to- 
morrow." 

One  of  the  six  silently  slipped  out  of  the  line,  and 
as  I  followed  him,  he  stopped  near  a  restaurant 
hungrily  watching  the  inviting  food  display  in  the 
window.  I  approached  him  and  put  ten  cents  into 
his  palm.  His  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  looked  at 
me  in  surprise,  and  clutched  my  hand  with  a  silent, 
expressive  gratefulness. 

When  I  returned  to  the  line,  the  old  man  brought 
out  some  dry  slices  of  bread  and  gave  it  to  the 
others,  saying:  "Plenty  of  wurk.  Why  don't  you 
find  something  to  do?  I'm  also  an  old  man,  and 
I  wurk  twelve  hours  a  day.  You  are  too  lazy  to 
wurk,  too  lazy  even  to  stand  in  line.   Oh,  you!" 

They  silently  accepted  the  scolding,  just  as  they 
silently  came  and  waited,  and  in  silence  they 
walked  away. 

As  I  stood  watching  the  line,  I  questioned  the 
old  man.  He  admitted  that  many  of  them  had  to 
be  taken  care  of. 

"It's  the  liquor,  it's  all  that  liquor  that  brings 
them  down,"  he  said  regretfully. 

I  looked  into  their  faces,  —  there  were  drunken 
bums,  old,  feeble  men,  and  other  life-stamped 
wretches,  —  odds  and  ends  of  one-time  blooming 


284  One  of  Them 

bodies.  And  the  old  man's  reproach  —  "  Why  don't 
you  wurk?"  —  sounded  ironical  to  me. 

How  can  they  work  —  who  will  employ  them? 
They  were  driven  out  of  employment  by  younger 
and  more  vigorous  workers.  And  if  they  do  happen 
to  get  employment,  they  get  the  "dirtiest  work" 
there  is  to  be  done.  No  wonder  they  drop  it  soon. 
But  even  if  they  are  lazy  —  laziness  is  a  sickness 
and  it  must  be  cured,  and  cured  carefully. 

I  looked  at  that  useless  "stock"  and  the  painful 
question  rose  loudly  in  my  heart,  Who  is  guilty 
of  those  people's  wretchedness,  of  their  laziness?  — ■ 

They  were  young  once,  and  with  their  work  they 
did  contribute  something  to  society,  and  it's  the 
fault  of  the  structure  of  society  that  they  became 
useless.  Society  is  responsible  for  spoiling  them, 
society  must  provide  for  them.  A  home  for  such 
people  could  be  built  and  kept  with  very  little  cost. 
How  can  people,  with  the  least  spark  of  human 
feeling  in  them,  enjoy  their  wholesome,  plentiful 
food  in  a  warm,  comfortable  home,  when  not  so  far 
from  them,  out  in  the  cold,  old,  sick,  thinly  clad 
people  are  waiting  for  a  piece  of  dry  bread?  How 
can  they? 

Still,  you  see,  on  one  side,  people  in  brightly 
lighted  hotels  and  gay  cabarets,  lavishing  hundreds 
and  thousands  of  dollars  for  wine  and  food,  two 
thirds  of  which  goes  into  waste-barrels,  and  on  the 
other  side  —  people  waiting  twenty-four  hours  for 


Prostitution  285 

a  dry  bread  crust,  which  they  are  not  able  to  chew. 
Poodles  and  bulldogs  are  kept  in  luxurious  apart- 
ments, and  human  beings  are  lucky  if  the  policeman 
does  not  chase  them  off  the  hard  benches  of  Cooper 
Square,  where  they  find  their  lodging  for  the  night. 
Oh,  that  scene  of  the  stretched-out  beggars  on  the 
benches  would  fill  me  with  rage,  and  I  was  ready 
to  call  out  to  them,  "Come,  let's  break  into  those 
spacious,  beautiful  homes;  there  is  enough  room 
for  everybody!" 

I  more  than  once  watched  young  girls  go  through 
the  glaring  streets,  trafficking  with  their  honor. 
The  purity  of  womanhood  was  so  shamelessly, 
vulgarly  trampled  upon  in  front  of  the  hypocritical 
"moral  watchers"  who  seemed  to  turn  their  heads 
away  purposely  so  as  not  to  notice  that  which 
everybody  else  so  well  noticed.  I  would  thrill  with 
aversion  at  such  permitting  of  the  ugliest  of  ugly 
deeds.  My  heart  and  soul  would  tremble  with 
indignation  for  my  sex  —  and  again  that  burn- 
ing question,  Who  is  guilty  of  such  an  ugly  stain 
spread  upon  humanity?  Who  is  guilty  of  the  ruin 
that  is  brought  upon  many  a  family  through  such 
shame? 

I  came  to  witness  many  disastrous  cases  in  my 
close  touch  with  the  struggling  world.  How  many 
families  must  have  been  ruined  through  such 
shame,  I  thought,  as  I  watched  those  girls  lurking 
about  the  streets.    How  many  more  victims  will 


286  One  of  Them 

low  wages  and  the  present  unemployment  con- 
tribute to  the  market  of  shame?  Who  is  guilty, 
and  why  are  not  men  equally  prosecuted  for  that 
vice? 

With  lingering  pain  in  my  heart,  I  would  return 
home  from  my  adventures.  Never  before  had  I 
seen  so  much  misery  and  ugliness,  for  never  before 
had  I  had  courage  enough  to  look  so  close  into  the 
dirtiest,  vilest  districts  of  the  city  in  which  thou- 
sands of  children  —  future  American  citizens  — 
were  raised.  iVly  curiosity,  with  which  I  started 
out  on  my  adventures,  disappeared.  The  more  I 
studied  life  around  me,  the  more  I  saw  the  desper- 
ate struggle  of  the  deprived  ones,  the  stronger  my 
convictions  grew,  the  clearer  I  saw  that  monstrous, 
capitalistic  power  —  the  power  that  causes  misery, 
horror,  and  destruction  to  us;  the  power  that  builds 
its  own  happiness  by  robbing  thousands  of  others 
of  their  happiness.  And  it  was  painful  to  realize 
that  here,  in  this  free  democratic  government,  such 
crime  —  such  individual  anarchy  —  is  so  absolutely 
legalized. 

My  own  circumstances  were  nullified  in  com- 
parison with  what  I  saw  of  others,  and  I  grew  less 
concerned  with  myself.  My  income  for  the  last 
five  months  averaged  about  five  dollars  a  week, 
while  the  New  York  State  Factory  Investigating 
Committee  stated  that  nine  dollars  a  week  is  neces- 


A  Good  Friend  287 

sary  as  a  minimum  wage  for  a  working-girl.  I  now 
lived  with  a  friend  of  mine,  who  was  also  out  of 
work,  and  together  we  succeeded  to  drag  out  our 
existence.  My  friend's  husband  kept  a  second- 
hand furniture  store,  and  were  it  not  for  the  war, 
they  might  have  been  fairly  prosperous.  Second- 
hand furniture  is  mostly  bought  by  new  immigrant 
families,  but  since  the  outbreak  of  the  European 
war,  immigration  has  stopped  and  together  with  it 
the  second-hand  furniture  sales.  It  went  so  far  that 
my  friend  had  to  borrow  money  to  pay  rent  for  the 
unsold  furniture.  The  only  advantage  my  friend 
had  of  the  store  was  the  display  of  furniture  from 
which — even  though  second-hand  —  she  very  often 
picked  out  quite  artistic  things  to  furnish  her  apart- 
ment. And  we  really  had  a  very  comfortable  little 
home.  I  was  particularly  fond  of  the  library,  fur- 
nished with  simple  but  artistic  furniture,  a  lamp 
with  a  nice  green  shade  that  spread  a  soft  pleasant 
light  over  the  room,  some  cheap  copies  of  famous 
pictures  hung  on  the  wall,  and  two  plants  at  the 
corners  completed  the  charm  of  the  room,  in  which 
the  feminine  touch  of  my  little  romantic  friend  was 
felt  on  everything. 

In  the  days  of  miserable  disappointments,  in  the 
days  of  hunger,  my  friend  was  quite  a  tonic  to  me. 
I  was  often  pleasantly  surprised  at  that  woman, 
with  hardly  any  education,  but  such  a  strong  intel- 
lect.  We  would  both  rejoice  in  the  green,  soft  light 


288  One  of  Them 

of  our  library  after  a  "sumptuous  meal"  of  bread 
and  herring  —  having  Maeterlinck  for  our  dessert. 
Maeterlinck  was  my  friend's  favorite,  and  in  the 
bitterest  moments,  when  her  sufferings  would  reach 
the  climax,  she  often  said,  with  a  little  smile,  "Well, 
well,  it  could  be  no  worse  than  it  is  now,  but  as 
long  as  there  is  still  a  piece  of  bread,  and  some  tea 
in  the  house,  and  Maeterlinck  to  carry  me  away 
high  —  high  above  the  misery,  I  can  hope  patiently 
and  search  for  my  blue  bird." 

Our  regular  menu  was  bread,  herring,  and  tea  or 
coffee.  I  also  discovered  another  sort  of  economy. 
Sitting  in  Central  Park  on  a  lonely  day,  I  watched 
a  child  feeding  squirrels  with  peanuts.  The  squir- 
rels confidingly  picked  the  peanuts  from  the  chil- 
dren's palms,  then  ran  away  a  few  yards,  dug  a 
little  hole  in  the  ground,  hid  their  fortunes,  and 
returned  for  more,  to  the  children's  great  delight; 
they  jumped  and  whistled  with  joy  at  the  squirrels' 
tricks.  That  play  attracted  me  and  I  also  bought 
peanuts  for  the  squirrels.  I  was  hungry,  so  I  also 
treated  myself  to  some  peanuts  and  was  surprised 
to  feel  that  the  lingering  pain  of  hunger  disap- 
peared. From  that  day  on,  I  tricked  my  stomach 
with  peanuts.  Whenever  I  walked  around  all  day 
looking  for  work,  and  getting  no  food,  I  would  still 
my  hunger  with  peanuts,  which  certainly  were  eco- 
nomical. A  nickel's  worth  of  peanuts  carried  me 
around  a  whole  day,  and  that  gave  me  the  courage 


Justice  or  Nothing  289 

to  reject  jobs  that  were  sometimes  offered  to  me 
for  seventy-five  cents  a  day.  I  was,  and  still  am, 
strongly  determined  to  live  on  peanuts,  or  not  live 
at  all,  but  never  to  sell  my  energy  for  seventy-five 
cents  a  day,  never  allow  others  to  deprive  me  of  my 
returns  for  my  hard  labor. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  wheels  of  time  kept  turning  on,  speeding 
and  grinding  the  dreary  days  and  months  — 
and  so  another  year  had  gone  by.  The  war  was  still 
going  on,  its  flame  embracing  more  and  more  na- 
tions. If  it  brought  prosperity  to  the  American 
financiers  and  munition-makers,  it  brought  sorrow 
and  pain  to  us.  Some  trades  that  depended  largely  on 
imports  were  actually  crippled.  It  also  affected  our 
industry,  and  the  workers  suffered  greatly  from  it. 

Tired  out  from  the  long  months  of  unemploy- 
ment, the  workers  hastened  to  secure  employment 
at  the  beginning  of  the  year  under  any  conditions 
provided  by  the  employer.  Now  more  than  ever 
the  employers  took  advantage  of  the  workers' 
weakness ;  they  trampled  on  our  rights  and  ignored 
the  agreement  with  the  union. 

What  were  we  to  do?  A  great  many  of  us  who 
refused  to  work  below  the  minimum,  travelled  from 
one  shop  to  another,  until  we  finally  had  to  accept 
a  lower  wage.  Our  union  suffered  a  sore  crisis.  In 
the  long  weeks  of  unemployment,  members  ceased 
to  pay  dues,  so  that  at  the  beginning  of  the  year 
our  treasury  was  nearly  depleted.  In  order  to  bring 
back  our  members  and  help  them  become  in  good 
standing,  and  also  to  encourage  unorganized  work- 


Difficulties  in  the  Union         291 

ers  to  join  our  organization,  the  union  gave  out  a 
manifesto,  lowering  the  initiation  fee  from  $5.41  to 
$2.41.  That  amount  initiated  a  member  into  the 
union,  and  made  a  member  in  far  arrears  become 
in  good  standing.1 

Little  by  little  our  union  began  to  pick  up,  and 
was  soon  engaged  in  a  desperate  struggle  to  restore 
the  standards  which  our  employers  had  lowered. 

If  conditions  due  to  the  strike  had  improved  in 
1913,  they  grew  worse  in  1914  after  the  European 
War  broke  out,  and  became  worse  and  worse.  The 
employers  paid  low  wages,  claiming  that  times  were 
bad,  due  to  the  war.  Whether  or  not  it  was  true, 
the  fact  was  that  the  least  little  thing  was  ascribed 
to  the  war.  The  cost  of  living  went  on  increasing 
from  day  to  day,  wages  were  small,  and  the  workers 
had  to  carry  all  on  their  stooping  shoulders. 

We  realized  that  it  was  necessary  to  modify  the 
protocol  and  amend  it,  so  as  to  make  it  more  effec- 
tive and  bring  it  to  the  real  object  of  its  existence 
—  that  is,  the  establishment  of  "just  and  fair" 
standards  of  working  conditions  in  the  dress  and 
waist  industry,  and  to  adjust  the  relations  between 
employers  and  workers  on  a  basis  of  fairness  and 
helpfulness.  We  had  had  these  attractive  words  for 
three  years  on  the  pages  of  the  protocol,  but  we 
seldom  had  them  in  the  shop. 

1  A  union  member  who  fails  to  pay  his  weekly  dues  for  a  period 
of  more  than  eight  weeks  is  not  in  good  standing. 


292  One  of  Them 

We  held  mass  meetings  and  local  meetings  to 
invoke  the  workers'  enthusiasm.  A  great  deal  of 
agitation  was  carried  on  by  our  "  Gleichheit,"  a 
Yiddish  weekly  given  out  by  our  union  to  keep 
members  informed  of  the  conditions  in  the  industry, 
discussing  social  and  economic  questions  —  also 
literature.  Two  more  editions,  one  in  English,  the 
other  in  Italian,  were  given  out  for  the  convenience 
of  our  non- Yiddish- speaking  members. 

Our  International  Ladies'  Garment  Workers' 
Union,  consisting  of  all  the  local  unions  of  the 
ladies'  garment  industry,  sent  out  special  organ- 
izers all  over  to  help  organize  the  entire  trade,  not 
only  in  New  York,  but  also  in  the  vicinity,  and 
in  other  cities.  But  the  work  was  interrupted  by 
a  frame-up  of  anti-unionists  and  scab  agencies 
which  were  assisted  by  a  number  of  manufac- 
turers. Twenty-three  of  our  union  representatives, 
the  best,  the  most  loyal  to  the  cause,  were  indicted 
by  grand  juries  on  the  testimony  of  gathered  state- 
ments by  a  certain  leader  of  a  criminal  gang,  that 
our  union  leaders  had  hired  gangsters  to  help  them 
win  strikes,  and  that  they  often  caused  violence  or 
damage  to  the  "innocent"  employer.  Eight  of  our 
leaders  were  accused  of  murder  in  the  first  degree, 
the  rest  of  other  crimes.  That  stirred  up  the  en- 
tire organized  world,  also  a  number  of  laymen. 

At  the  same  time,  as  if  purposely  to  break  the 
union,  the  cloak  manufacturers  broke  up  their  pro- 


Modifying  the  Protocol  293 

tocol  agreement  with  the  union.  It  would  have  re- 
sulted in  a  bitter  strike,  had  not  the  mayor  formed 
a  council  of  conciliation  which  brought  the  two 
parties  together  and  thus  avoided  a  strike. 

Meanwhile,  our  leaders  waiting  for  their  trials 
were  kept  in  the  Tombs.  The  organized  workers 
who  knew  who  the  real  hirers  of  gangsters  were, 
bitterly  resented  such  a  shameful  frame-up.  With 
heart  and  soul  they  threw  themselves  into  a  strug- 
gle against  those  who  were  intent  on  wiping  out 
our  best  and  most  able  people. 

And  after  many  months  of  loud  protests  and 
exhausting  strain,  we  succeeded  in  convincing  the 
world  that  they  were  innocent,  and  in  October, 
1915,  they  were  set  free. 

When  all  was  over,  our  union  began  to  make 
preparations  to  improve  conditions  in  our  trade. 
Our  board  of  directors  immediately  began  working 
on  the  modifications  of  the  protocol  and  new  de- 
mands, so  as  to  present  them  to  the  Employers' 
Association. 

Each  new  demand  was  carefully  discussed  and 
acted  upon  by  special  member  meetings.  Our  mass 
meetings  were  successful;  our  workers  showed  great 
enthusiasm  and  understanding  of  the  demands. 

We  demanded  an  increase  in  wages,  and  a  forty- 
eight-hour  week  instead  of  fifty. 

We  were  ready  to  declare  a  general  strike  if  our 
demands  were  ignored.   But  the  Employers'  Asso- 


294  One  of  Them 

ciation  soon  met  our  union  in  conference  to  discuss 
matters. 

After  many  conferences,  unable  to  agree,  both 
parties  submitted  their  disputes  to  the  Board  of 
Arbitration. 

The  association  controlled  only  half  the  industry; 
the  rest  was  in  the  hands  of  individual  employers, 
some  of  whom  had  individual  agreements  with  our 
union  and  some  were  not  unionized  at  all.  To 
make  similar  agreements  with  them  and  enforce 
equal  standards  throughout  the  industry,  we  had 
to  call  a  general  strike. 

The  exciting  preparations  then  began.  First,  we 
organized  the  workers  among  whom  we  worked 
for  the  coming  demonstration.  Many  of  us  were 
discharged  from  several  places  for  doing  it,  I 
among  them.  But  I  did  not  care.  I  hoped  that  in 
the  near  future,  through  this  new  strike,  we  would 
gain  better  conditions,  that  the  new  agreement 
would  forbid  an  employer  discharging  a  worker 
for  union  activities,  and  so  I  was  willing  to  suffer 
another  few  weeks. 

The  active  members  were  assigned  by  the  union 
to  different  committees,  each  performing  an  im- 
portant duty.  And  we  worked  very  hard.  In  rain 
or  snow,  we  did  not  fail  to  meet  and  plan  together. 
We  were  all  anxious  to  plan  right  and  do  our  bit 
for  the  success  of  the  strike. 

At  last,  on  February  9th  at  two  o'clock  in  the 


The  General  Strike  —  1916       295 

afternoon,  a  red  circular  waved  by  a  committee  in 
each  shop  was  the  signal  to  the  workers  to  stop. 
At  the  sight  of  the  red  circular  thousands  of  workers 
stood  up  at  the  same  minute,  folded  their  work, 
put  their  aprons  into  the  baskets  and  peacefully 
marched  down.  Crowds  of  them  were  pouring  out 
from  the  different  buildings  into  the  streets,  min- 
gling together,  greeting  each  other.  Their  happy 
cheers  loudly  echoing  in  the  air  were  caught  and 
enthusiastically  answered  by  new  groups  who  were 
constantly  joining  the  crowd  from  the  neighboring 
streets,  and  the  avenues  soon  became  black  with 
the  multitudes  of  the  young  toilers.  Races,  na- 
tionalities, were  forgotten:  Jews,  Italians,  Ameri- 
cans, Slavs,  Germans,  colored  people  —  all  com- 
bined together  in  one  desire,  a  desire  for  a  better 
life.  On  they  marched,  the  crispy  frost  encourag- 
ingly crackling  under  their  swift  feet.  Their  happy 
cheers  were  like  the  remote,  sweet  bell-ringings  of  a 
glorious  future,  and  my  heart  bubbled  with  emo- 
tion as  I  watched  that  live  procession  on  the  snow- 
clad  February  day. 

I  compared  them  with  the  many  processions  I 
witnessed  so  often  in  the  early  morning  when  the 
crowds  were  moving  on  to  the  monotonous  toiling 
world.  Those  were  mourning  processions,  dull, 
automatic  movements  of  a  down-trodden  mass  who 
carried  all  the  thorns  of  life  in  their  ignorant 
indifference. 


296  One  of  Them 

But  what  a  different  procession  I  saw  now. 
Multitudes  moving  on,  but  moving  lively,  —  pale 
but  happy  were  those  young  toilers  who  clothed  the 
nation  and  themselves  were  shabby.  Pride  and 
dignity  shone  in  their  eyes.  Happy  were  they  when 
they  left  the  factories,  not  to  return  until  better 
conditions  and  fairer  considerations  will  be  granted 
to  them.  And  in  my  heart  I  blessed  them  all, 
blessed  their  noble  fight  for  a  glorious  freedom, 
blessed  their  craving  for  a  human  life. 

The  meeting  halls  especially  provided  for  the 
strikers  were  soon  overcrowded.  Over  thirty 
thousand  workers  were  on  strike,  and  we  thus 
hoped  to  get  in  close  touch  with  all  of  them  —  to 
explain  to  them  the  aims  and  accomplishments  of 
our  union,  to  advise  them  how  to  use  our  joint 
strength  intelligently,  how  to  look  out  for  our 
rights,  and  not  allow  the  employers  to  trample  on 
us.  We  came  close  together  with  girls  who  had 
never  had  the  courage  to  hope  for  better  conditions 
and  who  now,  under  the  influence  of  so  many 
strikers,  grew  enthusiastic  and  hopeful,  and  de- 
manded from  their  employers  recognition  of  the 
union. 

While  the  Board  of  Arbitration  was  still  in  ses- 
sion, the  individual  employers,  with  the  exception 
of  a  few,  came  to  the  union  office  willing  to  sign 
contracts.  (The  season  was  already  on.  And  since 
the  employers  knew  that  an  agreement  is  only 


Arbitration  Affected  297 

effective  when  the  employees  stand  strongly  and 
demand  it  together,  and  since  they  hoped  to  rid 
themselves  of  the  brave  and  persistent  workers 
as  in  the  former  days,  and  have  their  own  ways  — 
they  were  hastening  to  sign  an  agreement  with  the 
union  so  as  to  get  back  the  workers  and  be  on  time 
with  their  orders.) 

In  the  halls  the  committees  in  charge  worked 
hard  to  keep  the  strikers  enthusiastic  and  every- 
thing was  conducted  in  an  orderly  manner,  but  a 
demoralization  arose  among  the  strikers  in  certain 
halls  due  to  the  misleading  of  some  speakers  from 
the  ranks.  There  were  a  few  members,  quite  intelli- 
gent persons  and  with  good  intentions,  who  caused 
some  trouble  with  their  speeches.  Not  being  pres- 
ent at  the  special  meetings  at  which  our  demands 
were  discussed  before  the  strike,  they  were  igno- 
rant of  many  facts,  and,  failing  to  realize  that,  en- 
trusting our  disputes  to  the  Board  of  Arbitration, 
we  had  to  accept  its  decision,  unless  it  is  absolutely 
against  us,  they  appealed  to  the  strikers  not  to 
make  any  compromises,  not  to  accept  any  decisions 
from  the  Board  unless  all  our  demands  were  granted 
to  us. 

The  Board  of  Arbitration  did  not  grant  us  all 
our  demands,  but  its  decision  as  a  whole  was  favor- 
able, and  though  a  great  many  of  us  were  not  quite 
pleased  we  accepted  the  conditions  because  we 
had  agreed  to  arbitrate. 


298  One  of  Them 

When  the  decision  was  brought  to  the  strikers, 
those  who  were  influenced  by  the  appeals  of  the 
few  not  to  compromise  refused  to  accept  it.  They 
accused  the  representatives  of  the  conference  as 
acting  autocratically  by  accepting  the  decision, 
but  the  clearer-thinking  workers,  who  had  care- 
fully followed  and  studied  the  special  meetings 
and  also  the  sessions  of  the  Board  of  Arbitration, 
were  in  full  sympathy  with  our  representatives,  for 
they  saw  our  strenuous  efforts  to  get  for  the  people 
whatever  possible.  With  great  difficulty  we  suc- 
ceeded in  restoring  order  among  the  discontented 
ones,  and  after  one  week,  when  also  a  great  num- 
ber of  individual  agreements  were  signed,  the  peo- 
ple gradually  returned  to  work. 

By  little  and  little  everything  smoothed.  After 
such  a  huge  demonstration  of  over  thirty  thousand 
workers,  things  were  slowly  coming  into  shape. 
The  last  decision  was  given  out  by  the  Board,  and 
the  final  modified  agreement  was  drawn  up.1 

The  protocol  as  it  read  appeared  favorable  if 
the  employers  would  only  carry  out  all  that  is 
provided  for  us  as  stated;  and  if  instead  of  short 
seasons  we  had  steady  work;  but  above  all,  if  the 
workers  themselves  would  stand  together,  and  all 
like  one  be  on  the  lookout. 

We  returned  to  work  with  the  hope  that  now, 

1  For  those  interested  in  the  details,  a  condensed  form  of  the 
agreement  is  attached  at  the  end  of  this  book. 


The  Protocol  Evaded  299 

with  an  increase  in  wages  and  a  promise  of  fair  and 
just  relations  between  the  employers  and  workers, 
our  existence  would  improve.  But  three  months 
have  passed  since  the  "new  regime,"  and  I  stood 
without  a  job  again.  It  was  the  middle  of  May 
now.  This  time  I  was  not  discharged,  I  left  the 
shop  myself.  But  I  left  it  as  I  left  some  of  my 
former  jobs,  where,  having  no  grounds  for  dis- 
charging me,  they  made  it  so  unpleasant  that  I  was 
compelled  to  leave. 

It  was  my  eighth  job  since  I  returned  to  work 
after  the  strike.  In  a  period  of  three  months  I 
worked  in  eight  shops,  five  of  which  I  left  myself 
and  from  the  rest  I  was  discharged. 

Why  did  I  leave,  and  why  was  I  discharged?  As 
always,  I  was  one  of  the  few  workers  in  the  shop 
who  demanded  our  union  conditions,  and  not  only 
for  ourselves,  but  for  the  entire  shop,  and  as  such 
workers  we  were  discriminated  against  and  forced 
to  leave. 

If  we  did  not  find  in  our  pay  envelope  the  extra 
pay  for  overtime,  or  the  minimum  rate  that  was 
promised  to  us  by  the  agreement,  and  we  de- 
manded it,  we  were  called  "kickers." 

If  we  refused  to  work  more  than  the  regular 
hours,  we  were  called  "trouble-makers." 

If  we  demanded  preference  to  union  workers  — 
or  if  we  protested  against  unfair  treatment  —  we 
were  called  "God  damn  foreign  anarchists."   And 


300  One  of  Them 

what  were  we  not  called  just  because  we  demanded 
a  living  wage  for  our  work! 

When  signing  the  protocol,  our  employers  agreed 
to  grant  us  in  good  faith  all  the  provisions  pro- 
vided therein.  If  only  they  would  have  given  us  in 
good  faith  what  belonged  to  us,  we  would  have 
had  nothing  to  object  to — and  would  gladly  have 
worked  quietly. 

But  they  did  no  such  a  thing.  They  gave  us 
nothing  in  good  faith.  We  had  to  fight  for  every 
bit  in  order  to  get  it. 

"Fair  treatment"  and  "good  faith"  on  the  part 
of  the  employers  remained  nothing  but  beautiful 
phrases.  In  reality,  they  acted  precisely  as  in  the 
former  days.  They  violated  the  agreement  — some 
more,  some  less.  And  those  of  the  workers  who  pro- 
tested against  violations,  who  demanded  what  was 
coming  to  them,  were  purposely  treated  badly  as 
a  punishment  for  their  activity  or  sent  away  alto- 
gether. 

A  great  many  such  workers,  having  gone  through 
a  great  deal  of  suffering  because  they  tried  to  help 
their  fellow  workers,  would  finally  grow  disgusted 
and  cease  their  activity  in  order  to  avoid  the 
employers'  persecutions.  They  would  lose  hope  of 
ever  expecting  justice  from  their  employers,  and 
with  embitterment  and  hate  they  would  settle  down 
to  work,  accepting  everything  quietly,  —  wishing 
and  praying  that  a  miracle  (either  through  mar- 


Forty  Jobs  in  Four  Years         301 

riage  or  something  else)  might  happen  and  save 
them  from  the  shop. 

Our  union  fought  discriminations  against  active 
members,  and  often  helped  them  to  retain  their 
positions,  but  I  seldom  complained  to  the  union 
to  protect  my  job.  I  was  too  indignant  to  work 
for  an  employer  who  did  not  want  to  employ  me, 
and  who,  not  being  able  to  discharge  me  for  my 
union  activity,  would  give  me  work  as  one  would 
throw  bones  to  a  dog.  I  was  too  indignant  to  re- 
main in  such  places  —  and  left  to  look  for  another 
job.  And  thus,  leaving  shop  after  shop,  I  worked 
in  forty  different  places  through  my  entire  career 
as  waist-maker. 

In  most  of  the  factories  where  I  worked,  they 
found  me  desirable  enough  until  I  asked  for  a  liv- 
ing wage,  or  until  my  fellow  workers  demanded  a 
square  deal.  My  fortieth  job  I  decided  should  be 
the  last.  I  could  not  stand  it  any  longer.  When  in 
my  last  shop  our  boss  wanted  us  to  work  the  first 
of  May,  —  which  our  union  has  always  celebrated 
by  a  demonstration,  appealing  to  all  union  mem- 
bers to  join  them  in  the  march,  —  they  called  a 
shop  meeting,  and  at  the  meeting  I  spoke  to  the 
workers  and  made  them  realize  that  it  would  be 
unfair  if  we  did  not  respond  to  the  union's  call; 
and  if  we  did  work  for  our  employer,  it  would  be 
unfair  to  those  employers  who  allowed  their  work- 
ers to  stop  that  day.   Our  workers  agreed  with  me 


302  One  of  Them 

and  stopped  from  work  the  first  of  May.  But  after 
that  day  the  f orelady  began  to  put  me  back  in  my 
work.  She  would  make  me  wait  a  long  time  for  the 
least  particle  of  the  work;  she  would  also  leave  my 
questions  unanswered.  When  I  asked  for  an  ex- 
planation, she  broke  out  in  a  shower  of  fury :  — 

"You  got  the  nerve,  to  expect  me  to  treat  you 
right,  when  we  wanted  the  girls  to  come  in  Mon- 
day [the  first  of  May]  and  you  threatened  them 
to  stop !  You  think  we  don't  know  that  you  try  to 
influence  the  girls  to  make  us  trouble  —  you  think 
if  you  got  a  union,  you  are  not  afraid  to  be  fired! 
Union  lady !  We  don't  want  such  people  as  you  — 
you  spoil  us  all  the  girls!  — " 

I  cut  her  short. 

"If  only  you  had  told  me  that  the  first  day, 
instead  of  keeping  me  back  in  my  work,  I  would 
have  saved  you  the  trouble.  I  assure  you  that 
though  I  have  a  union,  I  will  not  fight  for  the 
job.  But  what  I  want  you  to  know  before  I  leave 
is  that  I  never  did  such  a  thing  as  threatening. 
We  had  a  full  right  to  stop  from  work  when  the 
workers  in  the  other  shops  stopped,  and  we  were 
no  exception. 

"Just  as  Independence  Day,  or  Washington's 
Birthday,  or  Lincoln's  Birthday  is  dear  to  any 
patriotic  American,  and  to  me,  too,  so  is  the  first 
of  May  —  as  an  International  Labor  Holiday  — 
dear  to  me,  and  I  had  a  right  to  speak  and  explain 


Employment  not  Enough  303 

to  the  girls  the  significance  of  it.  You  say  I  spoil 
the  girls  —  why?  Because  I  tell  them  to  complain 
to  the  union  when  you  fail  to  pay  them  double  for 
overtime!  Because  I  try  to  acquaint  them  with  the 
details  of  the  protocol,  of  which  they  are  ignorant, 
and  of  which  they  should  know!  You  don't  like  to 
see  people  who  understand  and  who  can  see  what 's 
wrong.  Well  —  as  for  myself  —  I  shall  relieve  you. 
I  shall  not  stay  and  be  at  your  mercy,  that  you 
should  give  me  work  whenever  you  desire,  not 
when  I  need." 

And  I  left  the  shop. 

I  worked  in  forty  factories  —  Independent  Union 
shops,  Association  shops.  To  each  factory  I  came 
ready  to  perform  my  work,  and  with  hope  of  earn- 
ing a  living  wage.  But  the  conditions  in  the  shops 
compelled  me  to  protest,  and  if  I  —  like  many 
others  —  lost  faith  of  ever  expecting  justice  from 
our  employers,  I  did  not  settle  down  to  work  in 
dull  hopelessness.  I  never  learned  to  become  the 
"worker who  ought  to  be  glad  to  get  employment." 
No,  I  was  never  content  just  with  getting  employ- 
ment—  I  wanted  something  else.  I  wanted  to  be 
paid  enough  for  my  work  so  as  to  get  sufficient 
good  food  to  supply  me  with  sufficient  physical 
energy;  a  nice,  airy,  comfortable  room  to  rejoice 
and  rest  in  after  a  day's  hard  work;  enough  clothes 
to  keep  me  clean  and  also  keep  me  warm  in  cold 
weather;  enough  time  for  rest,  recreation,  and  above 


304  One  of  Them 

all,  for  spiritual  development.  —  God  knows  how 
we  crave  it! 

All  this  is  necessary  to  keep  one  in  good  health 
and  spirits,  to  keep  one  contented  and  desirous  to 
work.  I  am  not  only  desirous,  I  am  eager  to  work 
in  order  to  live  and  enjoy  life.  But  I  refuse  to  live 
in  order  to  work!  Life  in  itself  is  so  attractive,  so 
full  of  blessings,  that  I  refuse  to  let  it  slip  through 
my  hands.  I  refuse  to  stand  aside  and  let  my 
mouth  water  while  watching  others  enjoy  it  in 
full. 

There  were  some  employers  who  did  recognize 
our  rights  to  live.  They  advised  us  to  apply  to 
charity  for  aid.  I  recall  once  arguing  with  a  boss 
about  a  girl  cleaner  —  she  was  seventeen  years  of 
age,  self-supporting,  and  received  only  five  dollars 
a  week.  I  tried  to  explain  to  him  the  needs  of  a  girl 
of  her  age.  He  listened  to  me  attentively  and  said: 
"But,  my  dear,  you  should  not  appeal  for  sympathy 
in  a  business  place  —  this  is  no  charity  institution. 
In  here  I  am  concerned  with  business  only!  I 
donate  enough  to  charities,  and  —  if  you  say  the 
girl  cannot  live  on  what  she  gets  —  there  are  enough 
charity  homes  for  working-girls,  where  they  can 
live  on  small  wages." 

Through  my  experiences  in  dealing  with  employ- 
ers, I  heard  that  from  many  of  them,  who  hope 
that  charity  will  take  care  of  their  workers.  Noth- 
ing could  provoke  me  more  than  this.  They  wanted 


The  Humiliation  of  Charity       305 

us  to  work  for  them,  and  for  our  own  living  they 
wanted  us  to  beg,  to  ask  for  charity.  —  Oh,  how 
I  hated  the  word  charity!  The  mere  mention  of 
it  sounded  to  me  as  a  humiliation  to  mankind ! 

We  do  not  want  charity!  We  do  not  need  any! 
We  want  what  belongs  to  us  for  our  labor,  we  want 
it  in  full! 


CHAPTER  XXIH 

IT  was  Saturday  when  I  left  my  shop  —  the 
middle  of  May  when  the  dull  season  is  already 
rapping  on  the  door. 

I  came  home  weary,  not  so  much  from  the  argu- 
ment with  the  forelady  as  from  physical  weakness. 
During  the  general  strike  I  was  on  the  Hall  Chair- 
man's Committee,  having  charge  over  a  hall,  and 
keeping  the  strikers  in  order.  Speaking  all  day 
long  to  strikers,  I  grew  hoarse  and  caught  cold, 
and  while  running  around  from  one  meeting  hall 
to  another,  thinly  clad  in  bad  weather,  my  cold 
developed  into  influenza.  That  nasty  cold  gripped 
me  for  the  third  winter,  and  as  I  never  had  a  chance 
to  take  care  of  it,  a  chronic  nasal  catarrh  developed 
in  a  most  severe  form.  Sneezing  fits  would  keep  me 
awake  through  the  nights,  making  my  life  miser- 
able. It  caused  me  severe  headaches,  and  my  eyes 
would  be  moist  with  tears.  But  I  never  had  time 
to  think  of  it.  My  daily  existence  was  made  so 
hard  for  me;  my  shifting  from  one  shop  to  another 
never  gave  me  a  chance  to  save  up  a  few  dollars, 
either  for  doctors'  bills  or  for  a  warm  coat  that 
could  prevent  me  from  catching  cold.  Mentally  and 
physically  underfed,  I  grew  thinner  and  paler  every 
day,  but  strange  though  it  was,  my  ill  health  had 


How  Much  Longer?  307 

not  interfered  with  my  work.  I  had  grown  so  used 
to  my  machine  that  I  worked  it  automatically,  with 
no  special  effort.  It  was  only  after  work  that  I 
would  be  overtaken  with  fatigue,  and  would  slowly 
drag  myself  to  my  lonely  lodging-room.  I  lived 
now  in  an  extremely  small  room  in  a  shabbily  fur- 
nished house,  paying  ten  dollars  a  month.  For  such 
a  room  I  had  paid  six  dollars  a  month  only  three 
years  ago. 

Small,  shabby,  and  also  smoky  from  the  little 
gas  stove  that  I  kept  to  make  my  own  breakfasts 
and  lunches,  it  was  unfriendlier  and  shabbier  still 
when  I  returned  home  that  Saturday.  The  walls 
and  ceiling  hung  low  over  my  shoulders  as  black 
wings.  My  senses  were  twisted  in  dark  hopeless- 
ness, for  I  had  to  look  for  work  on  Monday  and, 
oh,  how  I  hated  it! 

Forty  shops,  forty  different  places  in  four  years! 
How  many  more  years  do  I  need  for  the  comple- 
tion of  my  brilliant  shop  career?  And  what  is  there 
to  expect  in  the  end?  How  much  longer  will  I  have 
to  be  scolded,  insulted,  humiliated,  and  managed 
by  greedy  bosses  and  stupid  foremen?  How  many 
more  pounds  of  flesh  and  blood  must  I  lose  at 
work?  How  many  more  darkest  days  must  I  walk 
through  to  reach  the  light  of  a  new  life? 

And  the  stifling  smoke  in  my  room  from  the  but- 
tered frying-pan  and  burning  eggs  made  the  de- 
cision.   Not  a  day  longer  under  the  present  con- 


308  One  of  Them    •. 

ditions!  I  would  no  more  return  to  the  shop, 
though  to-morrow  threatened  with  starvation.  But 
was  it  a  threat,  after  all?  Had  I  not  starved,  had 
I  not  lived  part  of  my  time  on  the  smell  of  food 
rather  than  on  food  itself?  And  food  was  not  all. 
I  was  starved  spiritually,  had  been  starved  for 
four  long  miserable  years.  Was  I  not  deprived 
of  everything,  even  though  I  worked?  What  was 
the  use  to  continue  work? 

I  sat  at  my  dining-table,  the  little  square  table 
that  served  as  desk,  study-table,  ironing-board,  and 
everything  else.  My  meal  was  untouched.  I  had 
no  appetite,  and  nobody  else  would,  being  tired 
as  I  was  and  having  to  prepare  the  meal,  sitting 
at  the  table  with  nobody  to  exchange  a  thought, 
eat  in  silence,  and  clean  up  afterwards.  I  looked 
about  the  room,  at  my  food,  at  the  newspaper 
that  served  as  tablecloth,  and  unwillingly  I  heaved 
a  deep  sigh.  What  were  my  accomplishments  for 
the  four  years?  For  the  moment  I  pitied  myself. 
And  once  more  my  early  recollections  rose  with 
reproach  and  made  me  homesick. 

I  longed  for  my  home  with  my  devoted  family, 
I  longed  for  my  early  days  surrounded  with 
friends.  I  longed  to  be  once  more  the  ambitious 
"schoolmistress"  surrounded  by  her  pupils  — 
sweet  little  girls  with  staring  eyes,  question ingly 
fixed  on  their  teacher.  If  I  could  but  see  them 
once  more  around  me  delighted  over  some  explana- 


Shattered  Illusions  309 

tion!  If  I  could  once  more  play  with  them  in  the 
woods,  looking  into  their  dear,  glowing  little  faces 
when  they  begged  teacher  to  sing  for  them!  Oh, 
if  I  could  now  fall  asleep  and,  as  often  in  my  sleep, 
live  again  in  those  days  and  forget  that  for  four 
years  I  have  been  nothing  but  a  "Say!"  and  a 
"Listen!"  and  an  "I  want  you!"  and  a  "Who  are 
you,  anyway?  "  and  a  "kicker,"  and  a  "fresh  thing," 
and  a  "God  damn  foreign  anarchist"  (that  1  never 
was).  If  I  could  but  forget  all  the  humiliations  and 
return  to  my  old  days,  which,  though  very  un- 
happy because  of  the  Government's  brutality  to  us, 
though  unendurable  at  that  time,  still  after  four 
years  of  American  life,  seemed  the  happiest.  They 
were  in  truth  very  unhappy  days,  but  at  least  I 
found  solace  in  one  cherished  hope  of  running  away 
to  free  America.  But  where  was  I  to  run  now? 
Where  should  I  look  for  my  freedom  now?  —  And 
I  had  no  more  hopes. 

Mechanically  my  mind  was  making  a  review  of 
my  four  years  of  American  life,  and  I  sank  brood- 
ing over  painful  details. 

Only  four  years  ago  I  had  left  my  home,  un- 
regretful  of  my  step.  I  ran  away  from  a  coun- 
try which  tyrannized  over  our  lives,  which  locked 
our  brains  and  ambitions.  I  ran  because  my  soul 
yearned  in  anguish  for  a  free  life,  and  I  followed 
the  magic  lure  of  Freedom.  I  ran  to  the  land  of 
liberty.    I  came  here  young,  hopeful,  with  vigor 


310  One  of  Them 

and  blooming  health.  I  was  eager  to  become  a 
member  of  a  free  nation,  live  among  free  people, 
serve  in  whatever  way  I  could  for  the  comfort  and 
welfare  of  a  free  people,  and  get  in  return  to  drink 
from  the  full  cup  of  that  balsamic  drink  of  Freedom. 

But  what  did  I  find?  In  Russia  I  had  time,  but 
no  freedom;  here  I  had  freedom,  but  no  opportu- 
nity to  enjoy  it.  I  was  made  a  slave,  I  was  made  to 
work  hard  for  a  mere  existence.  And  where  was 
there  time  for  the  free  schools,  for  more  knowledge, 
where  was  there  time  for  the  wonderful  libraries,  for 
the  luxurious  museums  ?  Where  was  the  opportunity 
to  rejoice  in  all  the  blessings  of  this  free  country? 

If  we  rejoiced  in  one  thing,  we  did  it  at  the 
expense  of  another.  At  the  expense  of  our  sleep 
we  went  to  the  library;  at  the  expense  of  a  few 
dinners  we  went  to  opera;  at  the  expense  of  a  better 
room  we  bought  a  dress;  at  the  expense  of  our 
leisure  we  did  our  laundry;  at  the  expense  of  a  neces- 
sary walk  we  read  a  book. 

We  worked,  worked,  and  our  profits  went  into 
the  hands  of  others.  —  And  should  this  go  on  for- 
ever? —  Why? — Why?  —  For  four  years  I  worked, 
I  strove,  I  hoped,  I  struggled,  I  rebelled;  after 
each  new  disappointment  I  would  patiently  brace 
up  and  take  up  life  anew.  But  now  after  four 
years  I  was  too  tired  to  rebel  any  more,  I  was  no 
more  physically  fit  to  endure  such  a  life.  My  health 
was  entirely  broken.   Four  years  of  my  best  youth 


Enough  of  It  !  311 

and  physical  strength  I  lost  in  my  struggle  foi  a 
better  life,  and  had  accomplished  nothing.  —  What 
was  the  use  of  struggling  any  longer?  In  place 
of  the  one-time  healthy,  cheerful,  ambitious  girl, 
there  stood  now  a  stripped  shadow  —  stripped 
physically  —  stripped  economically.  And  should 
this  stripped  shadow,  this  already  good-for-nothing 
wretch,  go  on  living  this  life  forever?  Changing 
shops,  demanding  living  wages  and  being  thrown 
out  for  it,  should  she  go  on  living  in  this  miserable 
room,  and  forever  starve  for  real  life,  or  should  she 
settle  down  to  work  in  that  dull,  contented  hope- 
lessness like  some  of  her  fellow  workers  did  in  the 
end,  raise  no  voice,  accept  the  employer's  terms, 
leave  everything  to  his  free  will?  It  might  be  a 
little  more  profitable  than  to  protest  against  in- 
justice and  fight  for  better  conditions. 

But  stripped  creature  though  I  was,  I  decided 
to  do  neither.  I  said,  "Enough  of  it!  Either  life  in 
full  or  nothing  at  all." 

Alone  in  my  room  I  sat  that  Saturday  afternoon, 
numb  with  hopelessness.  In  through  the  window 
the  sun  shone  pleasantly;  the  soft,  warm  air 
brought  whispers  of  spring  into  my  tiny  room. 
I  had  hardly  noticed  this  spring  coming  at  all. 
And  only  now  I  realized  that  it  had  nearly  com- 
pleted its  duty  and  would  soon  be  gone.  It  trimmed 
the  earth  with  its  luxurious  freshness,  spreading 
spicy  fragrance.    It  brought  the  song  birds  to  fill 


312  One  of  Them 

the  air  with  merriment,  it  brought  color  and 
brightness  into  life.  —  And  I  —  did  I  notice  it? 
A  gray  autumn  dimmed  the  windows  of  my  soul, 
and  its  drizzling  rain  fell  on  my  heart,  freezing 
my  hopes. 

Hopes  —  oh,  the  beautiful  hopes  of  my  past ! 
This  new  life  in  a  free  country  has  deceived  and 
crushed  us!  What  shall  become  of  us  now?  How 
shall  we  begin  our  morrow?  —  And  back  and  forth 
I  paced,  racking  my  brain  trying  to  invent  some 
plan  that  might  help  me  change  my  life,  but  my 
wits  failed  me.  The  more  I  rambled  in  search  for 
enlightenment,  the  deeper  the  darkness  sat  enfold- 
ing me  into  endless  nights  of  uncertainty.  The 
morrow  stared  with  its  unknown  burdens,  and 
shadows  of  fear  spread  around  me  dancing  and 
teasing,  roaring  with  hellish  laughter. 

My  head  dizzied,  senses  twirled,  a  rush  of  mad 
waves  came  heaving  in  my  heart,  shortening  my 
breath,  and  tears  came  pouring,  pouring  endlessly, 
until  pain  was  gone,  leaving  a  blunt  emptiness  in 
my  heart.  I  began  to  fear  my  own  self,  I  feared  the 
loneliness,  I  feared  the  narrow  walls,  and  driven 
by  fear  I  left  my  room  in  haste.  I  wandered  in  the 
squares  and  parks,  I  rambled  for  hours  over  the 
streets,  cut  and  zigzagged  with  cold  steel  veins, 
and  suddenly  I  felt  lost  amidst  the  noise  and  hurry- 
skurry .  So  many  people  around,  and  all  strangers  to 
me !  Such  a  big  spacious  world  and  no  place  for  me ! 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

I  SLOWLY  walked  toward  the  Bar  Association, 
where  our  Board  of  Arbitration  held  its  session. 
I  liked  the  Board,  I  liked  its  existence;  for  without 
strikes,  without  bloodshed,  without  losses  to  either 
side,  but  by  peaceful  means  of  careful  considera- 
tion to  their  differences  the  Board  often  brought 
the  workers  and  employers  to  an  agreement.  My 
experience  in  the  end,  however,  shook  my  faith 
in  it. 

Silence  reigned  in  the  room  when  I  entered  and 
I  tiptoed  to  the  left  side  bordered  with  a  cord,  to 
divide  it  from  the  right  where  the  employers  sat. 
(Even  there  our  bosses  drew  lines  of  distinction 
between  us.)  At  one  end  of  the  room  the  Board 
presided.  The  chairman  sat  with  his  eyes  half 
closed,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  only  the  constant 
wrinkling  of  his  high  forehead  showed  his  deep 
concern.  The  two  arbitrators,  one  for  the  union 
and  one  for  the  employers,  sat  beside  him,  and  with 
intent  faces  listened  to  the  word-battles  of  the 
attorneys  across  the  table. 

The  lawyer  for  the  union  spoke,  and  his  well- 
trained  voice,  now  falling,  now  rising,  carried  with 
force  each  new  argument,  strengthened  the  justi- 
fication of  our  demands.    But  no  less  persuasive 


314  One  of  Them 

was  the  lawyer  for  the  employers.  With  no  less 
force  did  he  repel  our  demands,  not  because  they 
were  unjust,  but  because  he  defended  the  interests 
of  his  clients  who  sat  at  the  right  listening  to  him. 
He  defended  their  profits. 

I  sat  among  my  tired  pale  sisters  at  the  left,  and 
from  my  seat  I  surveyed  the  "rights."  For  more 
than  three  years  I  had  worked  for  them.  I  studied 
them,  I  knew  them  so  well.  I  knew  their  attitude 
toward  the  Board  —  they  hated  it  because  it  did 
not  allow  them  to  exploit  the  workers  in  the  good 
old  ways.  They  only  tolerated  the  Board  because 
they  feared  public  opinion,  but  in  their  business  es- 
tablishments they  more  often  ignored  the  Board's 
decisions.  That  was  why  the  workers  rose  in  pro- 
test; that  was  why  a  great  many  of  them  lost  faith 
in  the  Board  of  Arbitration;  that  was  why  in  return 
they  too  sometimes  broke  the  rules  of  the  protocol, 
thus  violating  the  decision  of  the  Board.  And  as  I 
looked  around  me  at  the  people,  at  the  employers, 
at  the  arbitrators,  their  hard  efforts  and  tireless 
energy  to  create  new  rules,  new  laws  for  the  im- 
provement of  working  conditions,  seemed  useless 
to  me.  They  will  not  be  observed  anyway,  for  good 
working  conditions  mean  less  profit,  and  who  has 
once  tasted  profit  will  not  give  it  up  so  easily. 
And  even  if  the  employers  of  our  industry  did  live 
up  to  the  union  agreement,  would  that  solve  our 
problem?    I  am  not  concerned  with  our  industry 


Beautiful  Possibilities  315 

alone;  I  see  and  feel  the  struggle,  I  hear  the  desper- 
ate cry  against  poverty  and  misery  of  all  the  toilers 
of  the  industrial  world,  and  my  problem  is  no  more 
my  own;  it  is  national!  It  is  for  the  nation's 
caretakers,  for  the  upholders  of  American  tra- 
ditions to  see  that  her  children  who  build,  enlarge, 
enrich  the  country,  shall  reap  the  fruit  of  their 
labor,  shall  enjoy  the  equality  and  liberty  pro- 
vided by  this  democratic  country,  shall  be  safe- 
guarded from  usurpers  and  parasites. 

O,  if  only  they  cared  enough,  what  a  wonder- 
ful world  we  might  have!  And  at  those  thoughts 
of  beautiful  possibilities  new  happy  visions  sur- 
rounded me. 

I  saw  industry  belonging  to  the  people  and  for 
the  use  of  the  people,  no  more  for  the  profit  of 
the  few.  I  saw  the  workers,  not  only  building 
beautiful  homes,  but  living  in  them  too;  I  saw 
them  emerging  from  slums  and  ignorance;  I  saw 
them  straightening  their  stooping  shoulders,  rais- 
ing their  eyes  with  a  proud,  straightforward  look; 
I  saw  them  cleansing  the  streets  from  vice  and 
crime,  and  transforming  them  into  beautiful  gar- 
dens blooming  with  love,  equality,  and  brother- 
hood. I  fluttered  in  the  glory  of  a  Future  World, 
growing  unconscious  of  my  surroundings,  when 
a  gentle  voice  asking,  "How  is  Lisa?"  recalled 
me  with  a  start  to  the  present.  I  turned  my  head 
and  met  a  radiant  face  with  a  row  of  smiling  teeth: 


316  One  of  Them 

one  of  my  new  friends,  Juliet  Pointz,  greeted  me 
warmly.  I  walked  over  and  took  a  seat  near  her. 
Soon  we  were  joined  by  another  new  friend,  Robert 
Grosvenor  Valentine,  who  had  just  been  appointed 
head  of  the  newly  created  Board  to  enforce  the 
protocol  standards.  (The  Board  of  Arbitration, 
realizing  the  difficulty  in  maintaining  the  stand- 
ards for  the  workers  in  the  shop,  consented  to  the 
demand  of  the  union  to  establish  a  Board  of  Con- 
trol, in  order  to  enforce  the '  protocol  conditions 
and  equalize  the  standards  throughout  the  indus- 
try. Unfortunately,  neither  the  employers  nor  the 
union  realized  the  full  significance  of  such  an 
establishment  and  the  Board  was  terminated.) 

I  met  Mr.  Valentine  often  those  days,  as  he  was 
eager  to  get  an  insight  into  the  shop  and  its  effects 
upon  our  lives,  and  I  readily  answered  his  thought- 
ful questions.  Through  our  long,  intimate  talks  we 
soon  became  friends. 

I  feel  greatly  indebted  to  my  friend,  Miss  Pointz, 
who  introduced  me  to  Mr.  Valentine  as  one  who 
understood  the  problems  of  our  industry.  It  was 
through  her  that  I  gained  the  invaluable  friendship 
of  a  real  true-spirited  son  of  America. 

While  Commissioner  of  Indian  Affairs,  Mr. 
Valentine  instituted  reforms  for  the  welfare  of  the 
Indian,  and  vigorously  prosecuted  those  who  at- 
tempted frauds  against  the  Indian  tribes.  As  an 
industrial  efficiency  expert,  he  was  not  merely  con- 


An  Eventful  Meeting  317 

cerned  with  the  material  success  of  modern  indus- 
try, but  more  with  its  effects  upon  the  life  of  the 
worker,  and  his  sudden  death  was  not  only  a  loss 
to  his  family  and  friends,  but  also  a  loss  to  the 
nation. 

In  a  corner  of  the  room  the  three  of  us  sat,  in 
the  twilight  of  that  fateful  Saturday,  and  I  tried 
to  chat  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  But  the  blunt 
emptiness  in  my  heart,  that  slowly  changed  into 
piercing  anxiety  as' the  realization  of  my  present 
circumstances  returned,  must  have  shone  through 
my  eyes  and  betrayed  me.  My  friend,  Miss  Pointz, 
looked  at  me  anxiously  and  asked :  — 

"Well,  what's  the  good  news?" 

"I  am  jobless  again,"  I  remarked,  trying  to  be 
unconcerned. 

"Jobless  again  —  what  is  the  matter  with  the 
girl?" 

She  knew  of  my  activities  and  unwilling  adven- 
tures and  was  not  surprised  at  my  announcement. 
They  both  teased  me  for  continually  shifting  from 
place  to  place.  But  I  found  it  hard  to  make  light 
of  it  this  time.  I  sat  there  painfully  aware  of  the 
closing  session,  and  that  in  another  few  minutes  we 
would  bid  a  friendly  good-bye,  and  each  would 
turn  his  own  way.  Where  will  I  go,  and  what  will 
I  do?  I  feared  so  much  to  remain  alone.  But  before 
I  had  time  to  decide,  Mr.  Valentine  invited  me  to 
dinner.    I  was  loath  to  return  to  my  lonely  room 


318  One  of  Them 

and  was  grateful  for  an  invitation  that  would  keep 
away  my  companion,  anxiety,  for  at  least  another 
few  hours. 

We  walked  out  and  turned  into  Fifth  Avenue 
swarming  with  the  holiday  crowd  of  a  beautiful 
warm  Saturday  evening.  On  each  corner  we  were 
urged  to  buy  fresh  violets  and  fragrant  lilies-of-the- 
valley.  After  dinner  we  took  a  long,  pleasant  walk, 
accompanied  by  our  usual  discussions  and  disputes, 
and  finally  we  turned  into  Washington  Square  and 
seated  ourselves  on  a  bench  to  rest  and  continue 
our  talk. 

"Tell  me  about  your  last  job,"  said  Mr.  Valen- 
tine after  a  short  silence. 

I  did  tell  him  of  my  last  job  and  also  of  my  pre- 
vious ones.  He  put  questions  now  and  then,  and 
I  was  unconscious  that  he  slowly  drew  out  certain 
chapters  of  my  life  as  I  had  lived  it  in  the  factories. 
Carried  away  by  the  flow  of  my  own  words,  I  went 
on  telling  him  of  the  life  of  the  multitudes,  and  the 
misery  that  reigned  triumphantly  in  their  homes. 

"Come  with  me,  and  see  for  yourself,"  I  said. 
And  I  led  him  through  Fourteenth  Street  and  other 
back  streets  flourishing  with  white  slave  traffic; 
down  to  Cooper  Square  where  the  homeless  took 
possession  of  the  hard  benches  for  the  night;  and 
down  through  the  narrow  street,  crowded  with 
filthy  tenements,  where  people  lived  and  slept,  and 
bred  in  misery  or  in  happy  ignorance  a  new  genera- 


r«-w 


What  Do  You  Intend  to  Do?       319 

tion,  a  new  army  for  the  industrial  markets,  for 
men  are  needed  for  industry,  industry  is  for  money, 
and  money  is  needed  for  comforts,  for  luxuries,  for 
lust,  for  vice,  by  the  idle  profiteers. 

"But  all  that  will  disappear  in  time,"  he  tried  to 
argue.  "Big  profits  must  and  will  disappear  in  the 
end.  Economic  conditions  are  already  improving." 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said;  "a  slight  reform  once  in  a 
long  while,  an  increase  of  a  dollar  now  and  then.  But 
do  you  know  that  as  soon  as  we  get  that  increase, 
the  prices  of  food,  clothes,  and  shelter  spring  up 
immediately,  and  our  raise  goes  back  to  the  profit- 
eers. So  you  see  that  cannot  abolish  poverty  with 
all  its  ugly  consequences;  and  the  burning  question, 
'What's  to  be  done?'  stands  out  again." 

"Let  us  leave  all  these  questions  alone.  Tell  me 
what  you  intend  to  do  now." 

"What  I  intend  to  do?"  I  repeated.  His  ques- 
tion startled  me  with  a  jerk  —  it  instantly  brought 
me  back  to  my  reality.  Quick  as  lightning  memo- 
ries of  the  past  flashed  through  my  brain,  pointing 
to  a  hopeless  future.  I  suddenly  recalled  my  one- 
time, shrivelled  forelady,  her  golden  teeth  that 
glared  from  her  half -open,  pitiful  mouth,  and  a 
thrill  of  aversion  ran  through  me.  As  yet  I  had  no 
gold  in  my  mouth,  but  I  already  shrivelled;  oh,  how 
I  shrivelled !  And  that  horrid  vision  brought  forth 
a  burst  of  agony,  of  words  uncontrollable  —  I  was 
not  responsible  for  my  answer. 


320  One  of  Them 

"I  have  not  the  slightest  idea,  but  I  assure  you 
back  to  the  factory  I  shall  not  go.  I  see  nothing 
awaiting  me  there.  I  have  had  enough,  enough !  — 
I  have  secured  an  insurance  policy  to  provide  for  my 
family  if  things  come  to  the  worst;  that  is  the  best 
I  can  think  of  — "  But  that  was  as  far  as  I  went. 
The  last  words  babbled  out  unconsciously  brought 
me  to  realize  that  I  spoke  to  a  stranger,  that  my 
confession  might  invoke  sympathy,  but  no,  —  sym- 
pathy was  not  so  bad,  —  it  was  pity,  pity,  I  hated. 
I  felt  ashamed  and  ridiculous  and,  oh,  how  I 
wanted  my  words  back.  But  I  was  not  given  time 
to  repent. 

"Look  here,  'Madame  Pessimist,'"  he  said. 
"Now  more  than  ever  you  must  preserve  your 
patience;  the  future  is  not  so  dark  as  you  paint  it«" 

"Yes,  I  see  my  future  —  stitching  dresses^ 
dresses,  and  more  dresses  Pf 

"Now,  wait  a  moment,  don't  get  the  bad  habit 
of  interrupting  people  when  they  have  something 
to  say,"  he  remarked;  and  continued  t  **!  have  lis- 
tened to  you  for  more  than  five  hours  now,  and 
things  you  have  told  me  have  opened  a  new  world 
to  me,  —  not  that  I  have  not  known  of  it,  but,  of 
course,  I  had  the  view  of  an  outsider.  I  have  never 
before  heard  it  so  clearly  and  fully  put  by  one  who 
has  actually  lived  it.  You  have  given  me  the  most 
valuable  information,  and  I  shall  need  you  to  assist 
me  in  my  future  work.  I  want  you  to  start,  as  soon 


Mr.  Valentine's  Commission        321 

as  you  are  ready,  to  write  about  your  experiences 
from  your  first  shop  and  steadily  on.  I  want  all 
details,  interesting  or  otherwise.  Write  of  the  work 
as  it  begins  in  the  morning  and  ends  in  the  eve- 
ning. Write  of  the  surroundings,  the  treatment, 
the  relations  between  one  worker  and  another, 
and  between  worker  and  employer.  Write  of  their 
homes,  their  lives,  their  recreations,  how  it  affected 
you  and  others." 

I  stared  at  him  in  utter  bewilderment.  For  the 
moment  I  did  not  understand  why  he  wanted  all 
that  —  for  what  purpose. 

"I  shall  begin  very  soon  the  investigation  in  this 
industry  and  your  information  will  help  to  carry 
it  on  more  successfully." 

"But  I  can't  write  with  my  limited  knowledge 
of  English.  I  speak  wretchedly  enough,  but  my 
spelling  —  God  help  you !  Spelling  was  always  the 
most  capricious  of  my  friends,  it  demanded  a  great 
deal  of  my  time  that  I  never  had." 

"Do  as  I  tell  you;  never  mind  the  spelling;  it  is 
your  brain  I  want  to  test.  And  so  it  is  understood 
now,  you  are  in  my  employ  and  I  am  to  boss  you 
whether  you  like  it  or  not.  You  need  not  stay  in 
the  city,  you  can  gather  your  tools  —  paper,  car- 
bon, pencil  —  and  get  off  to  the  country  where  the 
atmosphere  will  inspire  you  to  work.  Every  two 
days  you  shall  have  to  send  me  your  manuscript." 

"Manuscript?"   I   stared   again.     "You   don't 


322  One  of  Them 

mean  to  make  an  author  of  me?  I  don't  know  how 
to  write!   No,  thank  you  for  the  honor." 

"I  don't  care  what  I  make  of  you  so  long  as  I  get 
my  information." 

I  glared  at  him  in  a  state  of  perplexity.  What  did 
it  all  mean?  Why  should  a  man  whose  acquaintance 
I  had  made  only  two  months  before,  take  the  lib- 
erty of  working  out  plans  for  me?  I  felt  with  sick- 
ening horror  that  not  he  was  to  blame,  but  I,  whose 
silly  tongue  had  let  loose.  "He  simply  desires  to 
help  you,"  a  voice  within  repeated,  and  his  sugges- 
tion humiliated  me.  I  began  to  tremble  with  anger 
and  shame  at  my  weakness. 

I  could  not  realize  that  he  really  needed  me, 
although  his  arguments  were  most  convincing.  He 
finally  gave  me  his  word  of  honor  that  he  needed 
my  service  and  added  in  his  usual  teasing  way, 
"Now,  go  home,  and  don't  you  declare  any  more 
strikes  on  me." 

I  returned  home.  Tired  and  restless  I  sat  up  in 
my  bed,  leaning  against  the  wall,  my  head  seething 
with  piercing  doubts.  To  accept  his  offer  or  not? 
Would  it  be  the  right  thing  to  do?  Not  to  accept 
it  —  what  else  is  there  awaiting  me?  —  voices  kept 
on  rising,  gnawing  my  heart  and  soul.  Oh,  when 
will  my  heart  stop  aching?  When  will  my  soul  find 
its  rest? 
.  Through  my  open  window  in  the  night-roofed, 


The  Task  Accepted  323 

mysterious  darkness,  light  breezes  came  flowing 
in  playing  with  my  hair  and  caressing  my  face. 
They  stirred  my  blood,  infecting  me  with  passion- 
ate desires  to  start  out  anew;  to  accept  the  chance 
that  breaks  open  all  doors  of  new  possibilities. 
And  visions,  luring  visions,  surrounded  me.  Un- 
heard sweet  sounds,  now  jumping,  now  groping, 
now  vanishing,  and  now  returning,  penetrated  into 
the  hidden  depths  of  my  soul,  calling  and  singing, 
waking,  luring  me  to  a  new  start  of  life.  My  heart 
throbbed  with  ardor,  the  walls  around  me  widened, 
the  ceiling  rose  high,  and  out  of  the  night  the  morn- 
ing dawn  arrived  shining  through  the  window 
brightening  my  soul.  I  slowly  went  to  sleep  under 
the  unconscious  murmurings  —  shall  I?  or  shall 
I  not?  — 

I  did  not  so  readily  accept  the  offer.  The  next 
day  found  me  very  feverish  and  I  hunted  im- 
patiently for  some  of  my  friends  to  seek  advice. 
And  Lord  bless  them!  they  all  encouraged  me,  my 
friend  Miss  Pointz  was  delighted  with  the  news. 

"Why,"  she  said,  "I  always  felt  that  a  thing  like 
that  should  have  been  written  about;  you  are 
lucky  in  having  the  chance,  —  make  the  best  of 
it." 

Not  trusting  my  own  common  sense,  but  assured 
by  others  of  the  significance  of  the  task,  I  at  last 
accepted  it,  and  the  next  days  I  walked  as  if  in  a 
trance. 


324  One  of  Them 

Is  it  possible  that  I  have  escaped  the  factory  — 
the  institution  of  bondage?  Is  it  possible  that  I  am 
free  now  —  no  more  a  tool,  no  more  a  mere  hand 
to  move  the  machine?  Is  it  possible  that  I  can  do 
something  worthier  than  slave  for  profits?  Is  it 
possible  that  I  shall  no  more  be  the  slave  of  Want 
—  that  dreadful  monster?  Yes,  all  that  was  pos- 
sible. For  I  was  provided  with  a  minimum  wage 
now  —  a  wage  not  based  on  the  arguments  of 
lawyers,  but  one  based  on  my  human  needs! 

And  I  began  to  work,  supplying  myself  with 
paper,  pencils,  and  half  a  dozen  dictionaries,  Eng- 
lish, Russian,  and  Yiddish,  for  the  task  was  not  an 
easy  one.  Each  sentence  was  thought  out  in  Rus- 
sian and  I  had  to  hunt  in  the  dictionaries  for  trans- 
lation and  the  spelling.  It  was  long,  hard  work, 
but  were  it  longer  and  harder,  still  I  was  ready  to 
perform  it  with  joy  and  delight,  for  I  was  free,  free! 
And  I  lost  no  time.  In  a  week  I  was  off  to  the  coun- 
try to  work  and  enjoy  the  beauty  in  the  open  arms 
of  a  fragrant  spring. 

And  so  I  have  emerged  and  risen  —  yes,  I  have 
risen  eighteen  hundred  feet  above  the  sea  level; 
amidst  high  mountains  trimmed  with  red,  green, 
and  yellow  trees  —  bright  like  Oriental  rugs.  I  did 
not  feel  the  earth  beneath  me.  As  if  on  wings  I 
walked  over  the  infinite,  sky-roofed  realm  of  splen- 
dor, brightened  with  sunshine,  charmed  with 
sunsets  and  moonlight,  filled  with  music  of  the 


Can  This  be  I?  325 

birds  and  happy  murmurings  of  the  innumerable 
streams. 

And  as  I  stood  gazing  into  the  infinite  space,  as 
I  inhaled  the  healthful  freshness,  drinking  the 
glory  that  spread  around  me,  bathing  in  its  warmth, 
I  kept  on  asking,  Can  this  be  I?  And  the  trium- 
phant answer  rang,  Yes,  it  is  I.  I,  away  from  the 
dirty  city,  the  filthy  streets,  diseased  humanity. 
It  was  I  out  of  the  misery  that  ground  me  almost 
to  destruction.  And  I  wished  to  sing,  to  dance,  and 
to  pray!  I  wished  to  embrace  the  entire  world  in 
my  ecstatic  gratitude. 

But  something  clouded  the  sun  and  struck  me 
with  reproach.  I  suddenly  felt  so  narrow  and  self- 
ish. Have  I  a  right  to  be  here,  to  embrace  nature 
in  full  charm,  to  enjoy  the  comfort  of  a  spacious 
room,  and  eat  three  healthful  meals  a  day,  — 
when  behind  me,  down  there  in  the  sordid  city, 
thousands  of  my  sisters  and  brothers,  my  fellow 
workers,  fellow  sufferers,  are  toiling  in  the  stuffy 
factories,  are  wrestling  for  a  chance  to  live?  In  my 
selfish  desire  to  lighten  my  own  burden,  which 
became  impossible,  I  forgot  them  —  and  what  a 
shame! 

My  heart  ached  in  anguish,  I  wished  to  run  back 
to  them,  stand  among  them,  and  rise  only  together 
with  them,  to  make  possible  for  all  to  live  in  the 
open  glory  of  the  world.  And  I  said,  "I  am  h'ere 
only  to  store  up  health,  energy,  and  courage;  I  am 


326  One  of  Them 

here  to  grow  my  wings  and  come  back  to  you,  to 
begin  again  the  fight  against  the  sinful  injustice." 

A  storm  gathered.  Clouds  thickened;  the  waves 
in  the  lake  below  were  lightly  swelling.  Soft  zeph- 
yrs played  on  the  tree  branches  as  on  enchanting 
harps.  All  silenced  in  unknown  expectation.  I 
leaned  my  head  against  the  window,  closed  my 
eyes,  held  my  breath  and  listened.  In  the  black 
silence  from  the  depths  of  the  wood  vague  ech- 
oes were  moving  on,  growing  louder,  and  at  once 
a  mad  wind  swooped  through  the  air  striking  in 
a  thousand  trumpets,  the  trees  groaned,  their 
branches  bowed  low  to  the  earth  in  fear.  The 
waves  in  the  lake  foamed  and  rushed,  struggled 
forward  and  beat  against  the  shore.  As  if  God 
himself,  indignant  at  the  earth,  opened  the  skies, 
flashing  angry  lightning,  showering  and  thunder- 
ing. The  storm  fearlessly  raged.  It  cried,  it  sang, 
it  threatened,  it  triumphed!  And  my  voice  within 
was  like  the  voice  of  the  storm.  It  behooved  me  to 
sing.  I  no  more  feared  a  storm,  for  I  knew  that 
after  the  storm  the  sun  must  shine,  and  I  sang  — 
"O  mighty  winds,  I'm  one  of  you!  My  soul  like 
yours  is  blazing  with  indignation,  and  like  you 
I  am  wrestling  for  freedom!  Let  us  then  unite 
our  voices  in  a  mighty  chorus.  Let  us  blow  and 
scatter  our  trumpets  far  and  wide  —  shake  up  the 
world,  smash  in  dust  the  sinful  structures  of  present 


The  Dawn  —  So  Sure  to  Come  !     327 

society,  cleanse  the  earth  of  evil  and  wake  the 
people,  wake  them  to  consciousness,  appeal  and 
sing  for  the  glory  of  brotherhood,  of  equality  and 
love." 

The  winds  stilled.  The  storm  silenced,  the  dark- 
ness vanished.  And  a  bright  new  dawn  was  slowly 
rising  from  a  remote  corner  of  an  infinite  smooth 
path.  It  had  a  long,  long  way  to  travel,  but  it  was 
so  clear  —  so  sure  to  come! 

Ours  is  the  struggle  for  that  wonderful  dawn! 
—  and  to  us  shall  belong  its  glory! 


THE   END 


APPENDIX 

PROTOCOL  IN  THE  DRESS  AND  WAIST 
INDUSTRY 

(In  Condensed  Form) 

INTRODUCTORY  CLAUSE 

Whereas  on  the  18th  day  of  January,  1913,  the  Dress  and 
Waist  Manufacturers'  Association  and  the  International 
Ladies'  Garment  Workers'  Union  entered  into  an  agreement 
in  writing,  which  agreement  had  for  its  object  to  establish 
just  and  fair  standards  and  working  conditions  in  the  dress 
and  waist  industry  and  to  adjust  the  relations  between  em- 
ployers and  workers  on  a  basis  of  fairness  and  mutual  help- 
fulness; and 

Whereas  the  said  agreement  was  made  to  run  for  an 
unlimited  period  and  contains  specific  provisions  for  revising 
its  terms  from  time  to  time  to  meet  the  changing  requirements 
of  the  industry;  and 

Whereas  the  parties  have  held  conferences  with  reference 
to  amending  said  agreement  in  the  respects  of  standards  of 
work  and  compensation  and  machinery  for  making  more 
effective  the  enforcement  of  the  provisions  of  said  agreement; 
and 

Whereas  the  parties  having  agreed  in  conference  upon 
certain  amendments  and  having  failed  to  agree  upon  others, 
and  pursuant  to  the  provisions  of  said  agreement  having  sub- 
mitted their  differences  to  the  Board  of  Arbitration  consti- 
tuted thereunder  for  final  determination,  and  said  Board 
having  made  such  determinations  from  time  to  time; 

Now,  therefore,  for  the  purpose  of  making  such  amend- 
ments and  awards  in  the  form  of  an  amended  and  revised 
agreement,  it  is 

Ordered  that  the  terms  and  conditions  of  such  agreement 
as  so  revised  and  amended  shall,  together  with  the  foregoing 
preamble,  read  as  follows :  — 


330  Appendix 

The  said  Dress  and  Waist  Manufacturers'  Association  and 
the  International  Ladies'  Garment  Workers'  Union  reaffirm 
the  principles  set  forth  in  the  original  protocol  of  agreement 
above  mentioned  and  the  contractual  terms  of  the  said  agree- 
ment are  modified  and  amended  to  read  as  follows :  — 

TERMS  OF  EMPLOYMENT  AND  SHOP  STANDARDS 

A.  Wages 

Week-Workers.  The  following  shall  be  the  minimum  rates 
for  week- workers :  — 

1.  Provisions  relating  to  Cutters,  including  Apprentices 
Full-fledged  cutters  who  have  heretofore   been  receiving 

a  minimum  of  $25  per  week,  $27.50  (men  only) . 
Cutters'  apprentices  are  divided  into  four  grades :  — 
Grade  A,  $6.00;  Grade  B,  $12.00;  Grade  C,  $18.00;  Grade 

D,  $21.00. 

2.  Drapers  (women  only),  $15.00. 

3.  Joiners  (women  only),  13.00. 

4.  Sample-makers  (women  only) ,  $15.00. 

5.  Examiners  (women  only),  $11.50. 

6.  Finishers  (women  only) ,  $9.50. 

7.  Ironers  (women),  $14.00. 

8.  Ironers  (men),  $17.00. 

9.  Pressers  (men),  $23.00. 

10.  Cleaners:  Girls  under  16,  during  the  first  year,  $6.00; 
girls  16  or  over,  during  the  first  year,  $7.00;  girls  under  16, 
during  the  second  year,  $7.00;  girls  16  or  over,  during  the 
second  year,  $8.50. 

A  piece-rate  for  operators  shall  be  fixed  on  a  basis  which 
will  yield  to  an  average  experienced  worker  not  less  than 
thirty-five  (35)  cents  for  each  hour  of  continuous  work. 

Test  Shop 

1.  There   shall   be  established  and  put  into  immediate 

operation  under  the  supervision  of  the  Board  of  Protocol 

Standards,  a  Test  Shop  under  the  direction  and  management 

of  a  competent,  practical,  and   impartial   director,  for  the 


Appendix  331 

purpose  of  ascertaining  what  is  a  fair  working  schedule  rate 
to  be  fixed  for  any  part  of  a  garment  in  any  factory,  in  case 
of  dispute  between  employer  and  worker. 

2.  The  cost  of  maintaining  and  operating  the  Test  Shop 
shall  be  fixed  by  the  Joint  Board  of  Protocol  Standards  and 
shall  be  borne  jointly  by  the  Association  and  the  Union. 

Work  Time 

1.  Hours  of  Labor.  A  week's  work  shall  consist  of  forty- 
nine  (49)  hours  in  six  working  days.  Work  shall  not  begin 
before  8  a.m.  and  shall  not  continue  after  6  p.m.  on  week  days 
nor  after  1  p.m.  on  Saturdays  or  Sundays. 

2.  Workers  observing  Saturdays  may  work  on  Sundays 
instead. 

3.  The  following  six  legal  holidays  shall  be  observed  in  the 
industry:  Washington's  Birthday,  Decoration  Day,  Inde- 
pendence Day,  Labor  Day,  Thanksgiving  Day,  and  Christ- 
mas.  All  workers  shall  be  paid  full  wages  for  such  holidays. 

4.  Overtime  work  shall  be  strictly  limited  to  five  hours  in 
any  one  week  and  one  hour  on  any  one  day  except  on  Satur- 
days and  Sundays,  in  cases  of  emergency. 

Pay  for  Overtime 

1.  All  week- workers  shall  receive  double  rate  of  pay  for 
overtime  work. 

2.  All  piece-workers  shall  receive  extra  compensation  for 
overtime  on  the  basis  of  the  base  rate  fixed  for  a  worker  of 
average  skill  and  experience. 

Home  Work 
1.  No  work  shall  be  given  to  workers  to  be  performed 
at  their  homes. 

Discrimination  and  Discharges 

1.  All  employees  shall  be  duly  safeguarded  against  unfair 
and  wrongful  discharges  and  against  oppressive  exercise 
by  the  employer  of  his  functions  in  connection  with  all 
dealings  with  the  workers. 


332  Appendix 

2.  No  employee  shall  be  discharged  or  discriminated 
against  on  the  ground  of  his  direct  or  indirect  participation 
in  Union  activities. 

3.  The  employer  is  entirely  free  to  select  his  employees  at 
his  discretion,  free  to  discharge  the  incompetent,  the  insub- 
ordinate, the  inefficient,  those  unsuited  to  the  work  in  the 
shop,  those  subversive  of  order  and  harmony  in  the  shop  and 
those  unfaithful  to  their  obligations.  He  is  free,  in  good  faith, 
to  reorganize  his  shop  whenever,  in  his  judgment,  the  condi- 
tions of  business  should  make  it  necessary  for  him  to  do  so, 
and  he  is  free  to  assign  work  requiring  a  superior  or  special 
kind  of  skill  to  those  employees  who  possess  the  requisite  skill. 

Preferential  Union  Shop 

1.  Each  member  of  the  Association  shall  maintain  a  Union 
shop,  that  being  understood  to  mean  a  shop  in  which  protocol 
standards  as  to  safety  and  sanitation  and  as  to  working  con- 
ditions, hours  of  labor,  and  rate  of  wages  as  herein  stipulated, 
prevail,  and  in  which  Union  members  shall  be  preferred  in 
the  hiring,  employing,  and  retaining  of  help  and  in  the  dis- 
tribution of  work. 

Board  of  Arbitration 

1.  There  shall  be  a  Board  of  Arbitration  in  the  industry, 
composed  of  three  persons,  one  to  be  selected  by  the  Associa- 
tion, one  by  the  Union,  and  one  representing  the  public. 

METHODS  FOR  ENFORCEMENT  OF  STANDARDS 
THROUGHOUT  THE  INDUSTRY 

Joint  Board  of  Sanitary  Control 

1.  The  Joint  Board  of  Sanitary  Control  established  in  the 
dress  and  waist  industry  shall  be  continued  and  the  parties 
agree,  as  heretofore,  that  said  Board  shall  be  empowered  to 
establish  standards  of  sanitary  conditions  and  conditions  of 
safety,  to  which  the  Manufacturers'  Association  and  the 
Union  shall  be  committed. 


Appendix  333 

Board  op  Protocol  Standards 

1.  Recognizing  the  difficulties  of  imposing  high  standards 
of  wages  and  working  conditions  upon  members  of  the  Asso- 
ciation and  the  difficulty  of  maintaining  such  standards  for 
the  workers  in  the  shops  of  such  members,  and  for  the  purpose 
of  carrying  out  the  pledge  of  the  parties  to  equalize  standards 
of  working  conditions  throughout  the  industry,  both  organiza- 
tions do  now  agree  to  establish  a  joint  board  for  the  establish- 
ment and  enforcement  of  such  standards,  to  be  known  as 
the  Board  of  Protocol  Standards. 

White  Protocol  Label 

1.  To  make  more  effective  the  maintenance  of  sanitary 
conditions  throughout  the  industry,  to  insure  the  equality 
or  minimum  standard  throughout  the  industry,  and  to 
guarantee  to  the  public  garments  made  in  shops  certified 
by  the  Board  of  Sanitary  Control,  the  parties  agree  that 
there  shall  be  instituted  in  the  industry  a  system  of  certifi- 
cating garments  by  label  to  be  affixed  to  the  garment. 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
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